Winter's Chill
by Allithea
Summary: Post S3, no S4 spoilers.  While Arthur struggles managing his duties to the kingdom and to his ailing father, Merlin's life is turned upside down by a mysterious illness and his mother's deepest secret.  An enemy approaches, ever closer, with dark magic.
1. Chapter 1

Chapter 1: Gloomy Days

Gloom reined in the castle. Rain fell in thick sheets outside, a cold rain that spoke more of winter than autumn. Candles were lit in the corridors and the chandelier was alight in the throne room, but their light and warmth did little to brighten the castle, or the mood of the people inside of it.

Arthur sat at the head of the council table. After the whole fiasco with Morgana, his father rarely left his chambers. Gaius reported that his father's condition was not caused by any physical injury. Miraculously, Uther had endured Morgana's rein with nothing more serious than some bruises. Gaius went on to say that deep emotional strain could be worse than an injury. With time, physical injuries healed. Emotional ones might never be overcome.

Uther was showing no signs of recovering from his emotional strain. Arthur visited him every day, some days twice. The King sat in his great chair, sometimes staring out the window, sometimes staring at the fire. Some days he refused, toddler style, to get out of bed. He generally refused to speak, not even on issues that used to get him riled. When he did talk, it he just told people to leave him alone. Gaius said the medical condition was called melancholy, and that there was little to do to help him.

Arthur had become king in everything but name. By and large, it worked out fine. Arthur knew enough about the daily goings on to discharge the royal duties, if not quickly, at least fairly. He found that he had the respect of the common people, who looked to him to more fair minded then his father. Most of the nobles respected his judgments, and when they didn't they voiced their concerns in private.

The only real problem was that Arthur hadn't been named King, or Regent even. Gaius felt that if the King gave over his duties to Arthur in name, he would fall even deeper into the depression that gripped him, so deep in fact that he might not be able to recover. Arthur's lack of true title was a problem.

It had been Sir Leon that presented the issue to Arthur and to the council that morning. Every year, in the fall, the king made a tour of several nobles of his court. What had started as a way to sure up his borders, twenty years later, turned into a sort of ambassadorial visit. Now its purpose was to strengthen his alliances with men loyal to Camelot in heart, but far from Camelot in distance.

His father's advisor Camlan said, "We cannot send Arthur without the nobles becoming suspicious of the king's strength and health. The King must be the one to visit. Anything less and we risk losing their alliance and the kingdom with them."

Gaius replied, "Sending the King in his current condition would certainly assure we would lose their alliance. He has suffered too much to deal with the stress of this trip. As his physician I cannot allow him to go."

Both Arthur and Gaius had been vague with the nobles about Uther's true ailment. They had let it known that he had been tortured under Morgana's rule. It wasn't a lie, he had been emotionally tortured. If the nobles thought his injuries were more extensive, it would give Uther more time to recover.

Sir Leon asked, "Can we skip this year?"

Camlan replied, "Not without the same consequence. King Uther uses this trip to show his nobles his power, and to assure them of his ability to defend them in their times of need."

Gauis said flatly, "The King cannot go."

Arther said exasperated, "Then, as I said before, I will go,"

Camlan said through gritted teeth, "My Lord, you cannot go without arousing suspicion to the health and strength of your father and therefore the kingdom."

"Do you have a solution to this problem Camlan?" Arthur asked.

"No, My Lord."

"Does anyone see a way around this problem?" Arthur asked the group at large.

The men at the table all either shook their heads or averted their eyes. Thunder rolled around outside the walls and if possible the room grew dimmer.

"How much more time do we have?" Arthur asked Leon.

"Winter is approaching," Leon said. "We will need to leave by the end of this week to ensure the trip is complete before the chance of snow."

"Well," Arthur said, pushing himself up to his feet. "We'll need to figure something out before Friday then. My Lords, please give this problem your full attention. We'll reconvene this council at four this afternoon. Please bring any of your ideas."

The rest of the table stood and bowing slightly, each of the men took their leave.

Merlin hung back, invisible to the crowd, except to Gaius, who beckoned him over. Checking Arthur, and finding that he was bickering again with Camlan, Merlin crossed over to Gaius.

Gauis pulled Merlin into a corner. Gauis looked older now than Merlin could ever remember. His duties to the king had increased ten fold, and his other duties as doctor to the people had not lessened. In fact, with winter approaching, more people were falling ill.

"Merlin," Gaius looked imploring at him. "Would you be able to round on the widow Martin and the Peterson boy for me this afternoon? I don't think I'll be able to get to them before this afternoon's session."

Merlin sighed. As busy as Gauis was, Merlin hadn't fared any better. Arthur had been busier and consequentially so was Merlin. Arthur hadn't had time to dispense with his usual duties around the town. Collecting taxes, dealing with issues arising between the people, and repairing buildings and roads had fallen temporary by the wayside. Until citizens came demanding audiences with the king.

Since then, Merlin had been arriving earlier than usual, and he helped Arthur slug through the worst of the issues at breakfast before he was dressed. Merlin read the letters to Arthur, wrote up his answers, and saw that they were delivered. Sometimes, he needed to do it personally with a verbal message from the prince. Other times, he had one of boys who worked in the kitchen help him.

Then Merlin did his usual chores and those stemming from the newly appointed knights, Sir Gwaine, Sir Lancelot, Sir Elyan, and Sir Percivial. They were knighted peasants, and therefore didn't have servants of their own. Arthur had graciously volunteered Merlin until they had quarters and means of their own. To be fair, it wasn't a lot more work. Being of Merlin's status, they were used to doing things on their own. But they couldn't be seen mending their own armor or buying their own food at market, which is where Merlin came in.

Something of his annoyance must of shown on Merlin's face because Gaius grabbed Merlin's forearm and said in a hushed whisper, "Merlin, please. I just don't have time to see everyone today."

Merlin bowed his head; guilt flooded him, "Of course Gaius. What do I need to do?"

Before Gaius was done telling Merlin all the woes of the widow Martin, Arthur drew in beside him. Merlin glanced over at the prince. Arthur looked thoughtfully between them, but didn't say anything, so Merlin returned his attention to Gauis.

After he was done, Gauis bowed to Arthur, "Did you need anything sire? I was about to visit your father."

"No, thank you Gaius," Arthur said. "Let me know if there is any change. I will visit him myself later."

"You'll be the first to know," Gaius assured, then turning to leave he said, "Thank you Merlin. Make sure you thoroughly rinse the boy's wound."

"I got it," Merlin said, with a smile.

With a head gesture, Arthur indicated that Merlin should follow him. Merlin did, falling in step next to him as they entered the hallway. They were winding their way through the castle to Arthur's rooms before Arthur spoke.

"I assume you were listening to the problem in the court."

"It'd be hard to miss, sire," Merlin said.

"I'm damned if I do and damned if I don't."

"There has to be a solution," Merlin said, opening the door to Arthur chamber and letting his master walk in before him.

"What?" Arthur said. "No one had any idea at all."

"Give them time. They've only had a few minutes to think about it."

Arthur nodded. Merlin grabbed a candle by the door and used to it light the rest of the candles in the room.

"Have we heard anything about the bandits on the Northern border," Arthur asked, sitting down heavily in the chair behind his desk.

"Not yet. Gwaine was in the troupe that went looking for them. He told me he'd send word as soon as he knew something."

"I didn't honestly agree to put Gwaine in charge of that group did I?"

"No," Merlin said with a smile. "Lord Evelyn is in charge of the group. But Gwaine said he'll send word back."

"Good," Arthur said, his mind clearly in another place. He sorted through the mess of papers on his desk. "Would you light a fire? This blasted rain makes everywhere seem cold. Then bring me some lunch."

"Yes, sire," Merlin said.

Merlin bent to arrange the wood in the fire, picked up the flint and tinder, and then with a flash of gold, and a hushed whisper, the fire started. Merlin added some more wood, until he was sure it would last until evening, when he could rebuild it before Arthur went to sleep.

Merlin left without a word to retrieve lunch for the prince. He returned with it twenty minutes later. His dark hair was messed up; his favorite blue shirt was twisted off to one side.

Arthur, still engrossed with the papers on his desk, said without looking up, "That took you long enough."

Merlin shook his head and said bitterly, "Yes, sire."

Arthur looked up, his expression puzzled, "What happened?"

"Nothing," Merlin said.

Merlin tried to ignore Arthur's intent stare.

"Were you in a fight?" Arthur asked.

"Maybe," Merlin said, setting the tray on the desk.

"With who?" Arthur asked.

"It's not important," Merlin said, picking up the kettle and pouring Arthur a cup of tea.

"I decide what's important. Your job is to answer my questions. Who did you fight with? And why?"

Merlin looked out the window. He still needed to round on Gaius patients and pick up Arthur's laundry. He needed to check on the status of a dispute between two millers that Arthur had settled earlier in the week. That was a job from yesterday. He really needed to clean the floor. The damp weather had made everything slightly muddy. He felt exhausted.

"I had a row with John Henry."

"John Henry? My father's servant?"

"Yes, him," Merlin said.

"What did you get on about?"

Merlin sighed, shaking his head. "It's totally idiotic."

"He can't be more of an idiot than you Merlin," Arthur said with a smirk.

"You'd be surprised," Merlin said with a smile. He leaned up against the wall, letting his head rest against the cold stone.

"So," Arthur prompted when the silence got long.

"As your father's personal servant, part of his duty is to manage the other servants. Meaning, he's in charge of all us in the castle. But lately, considering the state of things, not all the servants agree that he is in charge anymore."

"State of things?" Arthur asked.

"Well," Merlin said, as if trying to collect himself, "Some of the servants think that since you are acting as King or Regent now, that I am, or should be, the master of servants. John Henry is an ass to most people, worse then you truthfully. Two maids that work in the laundry were having a fight and the head of the laundry asked me to sort it out. I had no intention of going, but John Henry overheard her, and he wasn't happy about it. He dragged me from the room, and told me that he would taking my place as your servant."

"He said that?" Arthur asked. "He can't do that. That's not within his power."

"I told him that. Then he hit me."

"He hit you," Arthur said, his voice louder and incredulous.

"Look, Arthur, he's not worth the effort. He's afraid that I'm going to take his job. Not that I want it. With everything that I do for Gaius, and everything I do for you, I wouldn't have the time. Speaking of which…"

Arthur stood up in a rush, cutting Merlin off, "This is maddening. I can't act like King without people worrying about the state of the kingdom. But I have to act like the King or there will be no kingdom. I thought I could walk a fine line until my father recovers, but it isn't working, it's taking too long. People are getting nervous."

Merlin said quietly. "The people believe in you, Arthur. They know that you'll make a good King."

"Is it enough?"

"It has to be."

Arthur shook his head and said, "It still might not be enough."

"It has to be," Merlin said again. "What other choice is there?"

Arthur didn't answer. The silence in the room grew as oppressive as the gray clouds swirling outside the windows.

Merlin continued, "I promised Gaius I would check on a few of his patients. Do you mind if I went now?"

Arthur looked up at Merlin, and nodded slowly. "Go ahead, but be quick about it. I want you at the meeting at four."

Merlin nodded and let himself out of the room, feeling the tension collect around his neck. His head throbbed painfully. Long day indeed.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2: An unlikely scribe.

Arthur sat in court while the rain continued to pound on the windows. He and the wisest men in the land argued the same pointless circular argument. Arthur needed to visit the distance nobles. If he didn't go, the nobles might assume the crown was weak. Then they would start making alliances with other kingdoms. But Arthur couldn't go because it would seem like Camelot was weakened if anyone less than the king himself arrived. Then the nobles would start making alliances with other kingdoms.

Merlin was late, which didn't help Arthur's mood. If he had to sit through this, at least Merlin could suffer as well. No one but Arthur himself noticed when Merlin took his place against the wall, behind him and a little to his right, a half an hour in.

They continued the pointless bickering for two hours before Arthur called the issue closed for the night. No one had any real ideas. No one could agree on the best answer. Arthur decided it would be better if he went, to err on the side of action.

The nobles all left, grumbling about dinner and a warm fire. Arthur wished for the same thing. He turned to look for his servant, only to find him missing, again. Rolling his eyes in exasperation, Arthur scanned the room and finally found him standing at the mouth of the room, talking with Gaius. Arthur approached them and caught some of Merlin's animated conversation.

"Then she wanted me to look at a mark on her back. She started talking off her dress Gaius. Don't laugh," Merlin was saying, half chuckling himself. "Could you possibly imagine?"

"Do you look at it?" Gaius inquired.

"No," Merlin said.

Arthur nearly laughed at the look on Merlin's face.

Merlin continued, "I told her that I needed to get back to the council meeting."

"So you didn't go see the Peterson boy?" Gaius asked.

"No, I did. That's why I was late. I cleaned the wound and bandaged it. It smelled awful. On his foot too. What on earth did he do?"

"Stepped on a pitchfork, the poor boy. The infection set in almost at once. How was he feeling?"

"Okay I think. He was trying to walk. I took that as a good sign. He didn't seem feverish, or in pain."

Gaius put a hand on Merlin's shoulder. "Thank you, Merlin. Have you eaten?"

Merlin shook his head, "Haven't had a chance since breakfast."

"I'll leave something out for you. But I think I will retire for the night. Build up the fire before you go to bed?"

"Of course," Merlin said.

Gaius bowed, and muttered, "Good evening, sire."

Merlin turned to see Arthur standing just behind him. Merlin jumped in surprise.

Arthur gave Merlin a half smile and said, "Took her dress off for you? Thought you liked dresses. You could have kept it for yourself."

Merlin flinched visibly and then rubbed his forehead with the back of hand, "You have no idea. She was almost as hideous and your stepmother, the troll."

Arthur flashed him a smile, "When you get my dinner, get a little extra. I'm starving. These meeting are worse than training."

Merlin bowed slightly, "Of course, right away, Sire."

Arthur returned to his chambers. The fire still smoldered in its place. He took his seat next to it and waited for Merlin to arrive with dinner. The fire, dimmed though it was, warmed him up quite nicely. He began to relax. Merlin arrived not five minutes later with a tray laden with fruits, meat and bread.

"They gave you all that?" Arthur asked.

"Fit for king, the cook told me," Merlin said, setting the tray down on the table.

Arthur sat down at the table and picked up the chicken leg. "Build up the fire, would you?"

Merlin nodded and without speaking, he brought more wood over. A few minutes later, the fire crackled, and light spilled onto the stone walls. Arthur felt the heat radiate from the fireplace to where he was sitting.

Arthur felt tired, bone weary. His problems had no good solutions. He had been trained since birth to be a warrior, a general able to plan battles and command men. This was different. This couldn't be fixed this with a sword fight.

Arthur ate slowly through his chicken, which was moist and seasoned with just a hint of sage. Then he bit into his bread, a bit crunchy, with butter, sweet and salty, on top. He glanced over to Merlin who was tidying his room.

"Do you think Camlan has a point?" Arthur asked, staring at the bread in his hand.

"Are you asking me or the bread?" Merlin asked, as he pulled out nightclothes for Arthur and put them on the bed.

"You, you moron. Do you think Camlan has a point? Do you think that if I go on this tour instead of my father that the nobles will start to question our power?"

Merlin stopped messing around in the wardrobe and turned to face him. He looked thoughtful.

"They will ask questions about the king. If you answer, you'll reveal the king's weakness. If you don't tell them, they'll start guessing. Whether you tell them or not, they will have doubts about the state of the kingdom."

"I don't know what to do." Arthur said mournfully.

He put the bread down and drank from the goblet of wine sitting next to him. It was new wine and so sour it made lips pucker.

"It's simple," Merlin said, turning back to the wardrobe, gathering the laundry in a basket.

"What's simple Merlin?" Arthur shot back, feeling exasperated. "There is nothing about this that is simple."

Merlin gave him a patronizing look. "All you have to do is get the scribe, Geoffrey of Mommeth, write up an overly formal, dreadfully boring letter about your many great deeds as prince. Then say the king wishes you to take over more duties of state. Have your father sign it, put on the royal seal, and there you go. One king sponsored trip. It's even mostly true. Despite being dollop head, you have done quite a lot for Camelot. Your father does want, or need, you to do more state duties."

Arthur felt the heat drain from him like he had just jumped into a lake. His brain reeled at the pure simplicity of it.

"Merlin, that's…" Arthur drifted off. Arthur stood up and paced a full circle around the table.

"What?" Merlin asked, looking puzzled, and a bit wary.

Arthur turned to face him. "It's brilliant."

Merlin nodded and returned to the laundry. Arthur returned to his dinner feeling better than he had in days.

A few minutes later Merlin asked, "Do you need anything else for tonight?"

Arthur looked down at his plate. He carefully picked up a piece of chicken and offered to his servant. Merlin looked at him in utter confusion.

Merlin asked, "You're giving me a piece of chicken?"

"Yes," Arthur said with a smile, something like satisfaction resting in his stomach.

"Why?" Merlin asked.

"I want you to write the letter," Arthur said, feeling almost as good as he did when he told Merlin to muck out the stables.

"I'm not a scribe," Merlin protested.

"True," Arthur conceded with a smile. "But you can read and write. Your vocabulary is excellent. But most importantly, I don't have to tell you all of my great deeds. You were there for all of them."

"I've only served you for three years," Merlin protested louder.

"The only things I've done worth mentioning happened in the last three years, while you were my servant – Actually, that a scary thought. But this is perfect, you can finish the letter tonight, take it home, give to Gaius. Gaius can take it to my father in the morning, and it will be signed, sealed, and ready to go for the meeting tomorrow morning."

"Arthur, please," Merlin said, looking sulky, "I'm hungry, I'm tired."

"So, you'll take the chicken then?" Arthur said, smiling.

Merlin looked at Arthur, then at the door, and then the chicken in his hand. Merlin paced over and took the chicken. He took several very quick bites with one hand as he walked over to the desk. He rummaged around until he found paper, a quill, and an ink pot with the other. He brought them back to the table and set them down. The chicken was gone by the time he got back.

"I take it you were hungry," Arthur said with a smirk.

"May I sit here Sire? It's hard to write standing up."

Arthur nearly laughed. Merlin could work in more sarcasm into the word sire then anyone he knew. Arthur just nodded and then handed him a piece of bread and some dried apricots.

"What do you want to say?" Merlin asked.


	3. Chapter 3

_an: I just wanted to thank everyone for reading! I appreciate the reviews. They've been great. :) It goes without saying that I don't own anything, although it could be said that Arthur and Merlin legends belong to all of us. :) Thanks again._

Chapter 3: Preparations:

The council meeting in the morning was met with some sunlight streaming through the upper windows. Not that it was warmer. The castle seemed colder to Merlin as he stood, only half paying attention, leaning against the wall. But then again, he didn't feel great that morning. Neither had Gaius.

His idea about the letter had met with universal approval. Arthur, of course, hadn't mentioned it had been Merlin's idea. Nor did he mention that Merlin had written it, staying up past midnight to get it done. What did it really matter, Merlin mused letting his head drift back to rest on the wall, most of the stuff he had written was his doing anyways.

Merlin jerked his head up when someone asked Arthur if he would mind reading the letter aloud. Arthur began to read.

_To My Lords and Ladies, Honorable Friends, Valued Allies,_

_I, Uther Pendragon, present to you my son Arthur Pendragon, Crown Prince and heir to the throne of Camelot, first born and only son of myself and my late Queen Ygraine of Cornwall. _

_Arthur Pendragon has been Captain of the Knights of Camelot for four years. He has distinguished himself by his loyalty and fighting skills. He was instrumental in defeating an invasion of Cendred's army, bewitched by the sorceress Morgause to be immortal. He defended our city from the undead Knights of Medira. He slew the Great Dragon, the last of its kind, when it escaped from its prison below our city. He defeated a griffon, slew the Questing Beast, and was instrumental in protecting our kingdom from the grips of a troll. He has a deep love of our kingdom and for her people. _

_For over twenty years our kingdom has known peace and prosperity. For over twenty years our alliance has been fruitful for both king and lord. To guarantee that prosperity endures, for many years to come, I have placed more responsibility on my son's able shoulders. He comes to you to fulfill my yearly visit to your lands, to address your concerns, to assess your defensive needs and deal with matters of state. _

_Health, peace, and prosperity to you my Lords, until our next meeting._

"Gaius took this letter to my father this morning. He read it and has signed and sealed it." Arthur finished showing the letter to the table.

"Who wrote it?" the scribe asked.

"I did," Arthur said, and then he gestured backwards, "With the assistance of my servant Merlin, who did the actual writing."

"He's literate?" one of the nobles asked, with disdain and shock, throwing a look at Merlin.

Arthur followed his gaze. Merlin certainly didn't look anything more than a country bumpkin. He looked half asleep, his eye lids droopy and shadows under his eye. Merlin had clearly fooled the most of the palace into thinking he was the biggest idiot around.

"Yes he is," Arthur said simply. "I will take a dozen knights with me on this trip, and perhaps half as many servants. No more than twenty total men. I want us to ride light and fast. It is far fewer people than my father's usual entourage, but I plan on staying a lesser amount of time. Sir Leon, I am appointing you as chief defender of Camelot during my absence. Sir Edwin and Sir Lancelot will be responsible for the trip preparations. I will hold court in an hour's time. Owing to the trip and matters of state that need to be attended to before my departure on Friday, we'll adjourn. Would Leon, Edwin, and Lancelot please remain behind?"

The council broke and before his servant could disappear, Arthur gestured him over. Merlin came, looking puzzled.

"Yes, Sire?" Merlin asked.

The three knights joined them. Leon, clearly the tallest, looked honored. Lancelot looked stoic, while Edwin looked annoyed.

"Lancelot, I'm putting you in charge of the physical preparations. Merlin can help you gather the supplies that we'll need."

The two men nodded at each other with a brief smile.

Arthur continued, "Edwin, I'm putting you in charge of the route and deciding where we will go. You know the North better than anyone. Time is short, and I'll need the plan before the day's end."

Edwin's annoyed manner dropped, instantly. He answered, "Of course Sire."

Arthur smiled and said, "Good. Lancelot, Edwin, you're dismissed."

Merlin's eyebrows went up in an unspoken question. Arthur raised a hand to him indicating to wait.

Arthur turned to Leon, "I want you to come up with the six most trusted knights currently at court. They are to guard my father day and night, until my return."

"Yes sire," Leon answered.

"Think on that, and then join me at court in one hour. I will announce you as my agent officially."

Arthur rose, Leon bowed. With a stretch, Arthur headed toward the mouth of the room and indicated the Merlin should follow him. Merlin fell in step, like a dark shadow on his right.

They walked through the long castle corridors. It was brighter than yesterday, but the air still felt cold. Merlin, for once, was silent. Arthur was grateful. His own thoughts were spinning enough without Merlin's take on the whole thing. They made it to Arthur's room, still in silence. Merlin held the door for him and they both went inside.

Arthur sat down in his chair by the fire. It had burned black in the night, and Merlin hadn't relit it. Not that it really mattered; he wouldn't be here long anyways. Merlin started collecting the breakfast dishes at the table.

"Merlin," Arthur asked, "What if you were the only servant who goes on this trip?"

Merlin looked up from stacking the plates, "What do you mean?"

"I don't want to be gone from Camelot any longer than we have to be. My father is not in a fit state. Even with Leon and a constant guard, Camelot will be weak with me gone. I intend to travel from sun up to sun down every day, as far as the horses will allow us to go. The knights can handle that. You'll complain incessantly and whine like a baby calf, but you'll keep up. Would any other servants be up for it?"

Merlin didn't hesitate, "No, most servants probably have never ridden on a horse before. And if they have, they haven't ridden a hard journey like that."

"That what I thought," Arthur said. "Usually my father brings a large group to these meetings. This trip will be lighter. There will be 13 knights, 1 servant. That's a load off my mind."

Merlin turned it over in his mind. He would have to cook fourteen people for three weeks. Something like annoyance flickered underneath his fatigue.

Arthur turned to the table, picked up the pitcher of water and poured himself a glass of water.

"Oh and Merlin," Arthur said, looking back to him, "The floor in here really needs to be cleaned."

Merlin was already half way out the door with the breakfast dishes. He turned back, and rolled his eyes, the annoyance flashing to anger.

"Ask the scribe to do it," Merlin suggested.

"What?" Arthur asked.

"If you want me to help Lancelot prepare for a three week journey over rough country for fourteen people, I will do that. If you want me to clean your floor, I will do that. I cannot do both, there is simply not enough time in the day."

Arthur felt the corners of his mouth tug up with a mean smile, "You'll figure something out Merlin."

The door slammed with such force that Arthur could feel the air moving around him. For the first time that day, Arthur felt a smile come over his face.

Merlin fumed until he reached the kitchen. He hardly noticed the walk. Arthur really was clueless if he thought Merlin could get both of those tasks done. It would probably take him the better part of two days to collect everything for the trip. By the time he reached the kitchen, he had calmed enough to smile at the head cook and to give the kitchen boy Arthur's uneaten apricot. Then he set off to find Lancelot.

Lancelot was in the stables, chatting with the master of horses. When Merlin arrived, Lancelot excused himself from the man and came to meet him.

"Merlin," Lancelot said in greeting. "Let's get this figured out, shall we."

The two men went back into the castle, in the main library area, which was empty. They stationed themselves at the long table, and Merlin dug out some parchment, a quill and ink. For the better part of an hour, Merlin wrote down supplies that they would need on the trip.

They decided for simplicity, that each knight would be responsible for their bedroll, blankets, clothes, and their armor. Lancelot would see that they're horses were ready, that each knight had their sword sharpened, a cross bow and arrows. Merlin got the domestic end of the trip. He needed to pack the food, dishes, medicines, and then take care of Arthur's personal belongings.

It was nearly lunchtime by the time they finished. Merlin went and collected the Arthur's plates for lunch and then asked the cook if he could meet with her around 3. She agreed and then he took Arthur his food.

Arthur wasn't in his rooms when he got there, presumably still at court. Merlin figured he better start on the floor while he had a chance. He sweep it quickly, making sure to get the corners and under the table. He didn't have time to wash it, but it did look much better when he was done. Merlin went to the wardrobe and started to sort through the clothes there, deciding on what Arthur should be wearing during this three week outing. Unfortunately, the more he stared, the more he realized that Arthur needed. There would be formal dinners, and hard traveling, and the potential for very cold nights. Merlin sighed. This was going to take a long time.

Arthur arrived looking annoyed. He glanced over to where Merlin was staring at the clothes back to his lunch. He sat down, picked up a chicken leg, and spit it out.

"This stone cold, you idiot," Arthur complained. "Can't you do anything right?"

"You were late," Merlin commented, not bothering to look over. He took out two riding cloaks and compared them. He selected heavier red one and tossed it on the bed.

"Food is supposed to be hot," Arthur snapped.

"Food is hot when it is first made. After an hour it gets cold," Merlin commented dryly.

"Then go get me some more."

"I can't," Merlin said.

"Why not?"

"The kitchen is closed until suppertime."

"They would make more food for me," Arthur insisted.

Merlin rolled his eyes. Arthur seriously didn't see how much of a spoiled baby he was.

"Look, Arthur, I can go down to the kitchen and demand the cook to make you a brand new meal. But I also need her to prepare at least ten days of rations for fourteen people for the trip on Friday. She'll probably have to work extra both tomorrow and the day after to get it done. I really don't want to go demanding that she remake a perfectly good meal that you couldn't show up for when I'm going to dump a bunch more work on her later this afternoon."

"It's her job," Arthur reasoned. "That's what she does."

"There is no reason to make it more miserable than it already is," Merlin countered.

"We protect her, we pay her, and if she's miserable, she can find a hundred other serving jobs that would suit her better. I need hot food."

"Fine," Merlin spat out, annoyed.

He walked over, grabbed the plate off of the table. For the second time that day Merlin found himself fuming all the way to the kitchen. One of the maids looked at him like he was totally crazy when he brought in the food. The cook looked beyond annoyed when he asked her, with great politeness, if she could either reheat the food, or prepare something new. The cook took the easier route, and reheated everything on the plate, putting the whole thing on a fry pan and then putting that on the rack in the fire.

Since they were both there, Merlin started to ask about preparations for the trip North. She told him, curtly, that he could help himself to the stores of dry fruit and meat so long as he reported exactly how much he took. After a few minutes of listening to her problems dealing with John Henry, her husband's drinking problem and a promise that Gaius could get her a potion to help her sleep at night, Merlin got her to agree to make extra bread on Thursday that he could pick up before they left.

Since he wasn't particularly far from home, he jogged up to Gaius's chambers to check in on his mentor. Gaius had been unwell in the morning. He had a slight fever and his bones ached. Merlin gave him a tonic for fevers, built up the fire, and hoped that after a few more hours of rest, he would feel better.

Merlin was relieved. Gaius was at this work table, grinding up dried leaves in his mortal and pestle. Gaius still looked a bit pale, but he was obviously feeling much better.

Merlin asked him to create a small medical kit for him to take on the trip, then returned to the kitchen with the potion for the chef. She thanked him profusely, handed him the reheated food, and then Merlin was heading back to Arthur's chambers.

Before he reached them, a serving boy caught him up and handed him a letter.

When Merlin arrived in the prince's chambers a few minutes later, the already grumpy prince was in for bad news.

"News from Gwaine," Merlin said, as Arthur had settled himself into for his reheated lunch.

"What does it say?" Arthur asked.

Merlin scanned through the letter. "Let's see, good ale, a few women, a couple of bandits, and oh..." Merlin dropped off and didn't continue.

"What is it?" Arthur said, sounding annoyed.

"He says the men encroaching the border are not like normal men. They are taller, paler, and are ruddy of skin, and … That's revolting."

"What?"

"Gwaine says they drink the blood of their dead."

"Fantastic. Is Gwaine serious or has he been hitting the cider too hard?"

"It's hard to say," Merlin agreed, feeling his heart sink.

"Anything else?"

"He thinks they come from the far North, maybe even from over the Northern Sea. Gwaine said they have burned villages to the ground, but only after they raped all the women and apparently killed all the men, because the only males left in the villages were small boys. They call themselves the Saxons."

For some reason, the mention of the word Saxon made the base of Merlin's neck tingle. He rubbed the back of it nervously.

"Don't tell me you're scared," Arthur said from overtop his chicken. "Gwaine probably had too much mead. No one, not even Cendred, is that brutal."

"Maybe," Merlin said, but he wasn't convinced. Something about the name of the people felt wrong somehow. Like a half remembered dream or a childhood ghost story.

Merlin walked over to the wardrobe again and started pairing though Arthur's clothes, looking for the ceremonial outfit he usually wore for state functions. The tingling on the back of his neck moved down his spine until it settled in his belly. It didn't move.


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

The day of the trip dawned clear, but cold enough for white frost cling to plants in ditches and ravines. As they road in the faint dawn light, it was obvious winter was setting in. Birds were scarce, and there were fewer tracks winding through the forest floor.

The group rode North and East toward the lands held by Lord Byron. On a normal journey it was about two days to ride to his lands. Arthur aimed to make it in before noon on the second day, to give them plenty of time to start on matters of court business. It didn't work out that way.

Within three hours of riding, they found a young man, maybe 17 years old and an old woman, sitting on the cold ground, beside the road, leaning on a tree, looking shell shocked. Neither of them had a coat. The woman's lips were an awful shade of blue.

"What has happened here," Arthur demanded of them.

Neither moved. Neither answered.

Arthur turned to look behind him, "Merlin," he ordered. "Check them over."

Merlin jumped out of his saddle, grateful to stretch his legs. He grabbed his satchel and walked over toward them, until he was less than a foot away. He knelt down so he was eye level with the young man.

The boy was pale, but his hands had enough color to suggest that he was used to farm work. His eyes were a deep brown, still totally blank, despite Merlin's proximity. Merlin reached over and touched his shoulder.

"Are you all right?" Merlin asked.

The boy's eyes flicked over in surprised, took in the group around him, and then he started shaking like an aspen leaf.

"You're safe. No one here will hurt you," Merlin promised, gripping his shoulder a bit tighter. "These are knights from Camelot."

The boy nodded briefly and looked down. Merlin saw tears rolling down his cheeks.

"My name is Merlin. I've been training with a physician. Can I check you over?"

The boy nodded again. Merlin took his arm and felt for the pulse. It was racing. His hands were cold, his eyes still dilated. He was in shock that much was certain. Merlin pulled out a flask of whiskey that Gaius had packed for him. He pulled out a small cup and poured the drink into it. Then Merlin slipped his riding cloak off and pulled it over the boy's shoulders.

As the liquor hit the boy's stomach, his face began to return to it right color. The young man took a deep breath and snuggled deeper into the cloak.

"May I examine her," Merlin said, gesturing to the woman beside him.

The young man nodded. "Yes, thank you."

"What's your name?" Merlin asked gently.

"Philip," the man breathed.

"Who's she?" Merlin asked.

"My auntie, Marie," Philip answered. "I was taking to her home before winter. We never made it."

"What happened," Arthur asked.

Merlin nearly jumped out of his skin. Without him noticing, Arthur had dismounted and was standing right behind him.

"We were attacked yesterday by a group of strange men. They were huge and spoke some different language. They took our food, our blankets, everything. We kept walking, hoping to find someone. A while back, my aunt just sat down by this tree and she hasn't moved since."

"It's a wonder they didn't kill you," Arthur said.

The boy nodded and tears welled in the corner of his eyes, "They almost did."

Merlin took the woman's arm and felt for a pulse. Nothing. He moved to her neck and felt for it again. He waited for a very long time and just when he thought she was dead, he found it. Critically faint. Merlin fumbled for the drink, poured her another cup, and then squeezing her nose shut, he forced the liquid down her throat. He stood up went back to the saddle bag and found a blanket. He took it back and wrapped the woman in it.

Most of the knights had dismounted. Lancelot offered the boy some food. He took it warily and began wolfing it down. Arthur pulled Merlin off to one side.

"How are they?"

"The boy should be fine. He's not injured. He spent a night outside in cold without shelter or a coat. They were smart, if they had stopped walking, they would have frozen to death. There is nothing wrong with him that a cup of ale, a roaring fire and a good hot meal won't fix."

"The woman," Arthur asked.

Merlin shook his head, "She's alive, but she's very weak."

"What should we do with them?"

Merlin thought about it for a few seconds, "We need to take them back to the boy's village. They have family there. They must have some kind of shelter, and some person who could take care of them."

Arthur bristled, "We don't have time. We have to get back to Camelot as soon as we can."

"You leave them here, they will die. Even if you provisioned them, gave them food, water, blankets, and cloaks, they're both too weak to survive another night out in this. Leaving them here is a death sentence."

Arthur looked torn and then in a moment, he straightened. "You're right. We will return them to their village. So much for getting to Byron's in lightening time," Arthur said sighing.

The old woman ended up tied in Lancelot's saddle with the knight riding behind her, bare back, to make sure she didn't fall. The boy settled in behind Merlin.

The group stayed on the main path for another half and hour before diverting on a side path to get back to the boy's home. It only took an hour ride after that to reach the little village.

As they rode into town, their red capes streaming behind them, all the people left their houses and shops to come and stand in the main square. They stared wide eyed as the troupe of solders fell into formation behind Arthur.

Merlin dismounted, quietly from his place behind Arthur. He helped the boy, who was still stiff with cold, off the horse. Arthur dismounted as well.

Arthur addressed the group, "Citizens of Camelot. We come in peace. My troupe was heading north to the lands of Lord Byron when we found this lad and his aunt along the road. They had been robbed and are nearly dead of cold. Are they of your village?"

With Merlin's help, Philip limped forward.

From the crowd, a woman cried, "Philip."

She ran up to him and caught him in a fierce hug. He started to cry again, onto the top of her head.

Percival helped Lancelot get the old woman off the horse. Percival gently carried the little lady forward. The woman, who was still hugging her son, looked over and cried harder.

"Marie," she cried. "Oh, Marie." To Arthur she said, "Yes, My Lord, they are of this village. Philip is my son. Marie is my mother's sister.

Arthur stepped forward to the woman, "Madam, my, ah…" Arthur stumbled for a word and then pointed at Merlin and came up with, "servant here, has some medical training. If you would like, he can look over them and give them treatment."

"Yes, My Lord, I would be grateful. Our nearest healer is two villages over." Her eye's flicked to Merlin and to the woman in Percival's arms.

"I beg your pardon, my Lord," the mother said, letting go of her son, her eyes bright with tears. "But might I have the privilege of knowing your name, so I may know who saved my son's life."

Arthur smiled and bowed to her. "I am Arthur, Crown Prince of Camelot."

With that pronouncement, she fell to her knees in shock. The rest of the people in square followed her example in a cascade.

Arthur bid her to rise and said, "Madam, your son and your aunt need care. Merlin," Arthur said, nodding to him.

Merlin returned the nod.

"We need to get them warm," Merlin said to her.

"This way," she said, indicating a house along the north side of the square.

An hour later, Merlin left the house, his cloak back on his own shoulders. He felt absolutely exhausted. There wasn't much he could do for Marie. He found it hard telling the family that she probably wouldn't survive the night. They took it well. Apparently the woman was quite a fighter and had been at death's door before. They still held onto hope that she would pull through.

Merlin looked around the square. It was well into the afternoon now. There were a few peddlers on the street, selling a bit of everything, but there were no knights anywhere. Their horses, his included, had been tethered up to a hitching post on the south side of the square. Merlin headed over toward what looked like an inn, near to the horses.

He walked in. The happy chatter of voices filled the room and bright hot firelight shone from a huge hearth fire. All of the knights were sitting at tables around the room. Arthur was on the far end, talking with one of the townspeople. Arthur turned when the door opened and gestured for him to come over. Merlin sighed, looked longingly at Lancelot, who was eating what looked like a mutton stew and drinking ale.

"Merlin," Arthur said, as he approached. "Have you finished?"

"I've done as much as I can for them," Merlin replied. "Time will tell."

The man at the table asked, "Will Philip be all right?"

Merlin turned to him. The man was some undeterminable age between 30 and 50. His hair was the color deer fur and his long face had rough scratches of a beard that wouldn't quite grow.

"He'll be just fine. A couple of days of rest, some of that stew that the knights are eating, and a warm fire will set him to rights in a few days. I'm not sure about the Marie though. If she's strong enough to survive the night, there's a chance."

The man nodded. He stretched out his hand to Merlin, which Merlin took surprised.

"Thank you, my Lord. Philip is my only son. A good boy if there ever was one. I will always be in your debt." Then the man stood up and then bowed low to Arthur. "Sire, I'll say it today and to my dying day, there will never be another king in this land as great as you." He raised he voice to a shout, "Long live Prince Arthur."

The crowd answered back, "Long live Prince Arthur!"

Philip's father bowed low again to Arthur, bowed to Merlin, and then left the inn, leaving Arthur and Merlin at the table. Just as Merlin was about to order some of the stew, Arthur stood up.

"My knights," he said loudly. "We must depart. Return to your horses." Then in a lower voice to Merlin, he said as he handed him a half a dozen coins. "Settle up will you?"

As the knights filled out after Arthur, Merlin walked up to the bar. Merlin had the account settled in a trice, but before he turned to leave, a slim girl bowed to him.

Blushing furiously, the girl pressed a little package tied up in a towel in his hand and then she hurried away. Merlin opened the package and found a glass jar of golden honey. Merlin smiled.

"Would thank her for me," Merlin asked the barman. "It's a grand gift. Honey prevents infections and helps healing. But more importantly, when I put it on the prince's bread in the morning, he gives me less chores to do."

The barkeeper laughed from his belly, which was rounder than his head.

"She's to wed Philip in the spring," he said. "Expect she wants to thank you."

"She didn't need to do that," Merlin said, feeling his own blush coming on.

"I don't need to do this either," the barkeeper said handing Merlin a hunk of bread, some cheese, and a sealed flask of what could only be ale. "But seeing as you did save my daughter's future husband, and your prince is running off before you ate anything."

The barkeeper eyes twinkled as he shook Merlin's hand and then said, "Thank you lad."

Merlin smiled and nodded, then hurried out to join the group.

Arthur seemed to be trying to make up for the hours they lost saving Philip and his aunt. They rode much later then they usually would have and only stopped when it was too dark in the forest to see the trail, meaning that they had to set up camp in the near dark.

Merlin was hungry, sore, exhausted, and beyond annoyed with Arthur. Arthur only agreed to stop when Merlin pointed out that if they got lost it would take more time to find the proper trail in the morning then it would to just finish the ride from where they were. Arthur told him he was girl, but he stopped a few minutes later.

Despite the darkness, the knights were able to set up camp in no time. Merlin divvied out food, a meal of dried beef, fruit and day old bread. Afterward, he was so tired he asked Arthur permission to turn in. Arthur granted it, but gave Merlin a strange look. Whether it was because Merlin asked permission to go to sleep, or because it was still very early, Merlin didn't know. He really didn't care either. He had a headache and maybe a fever. All he wanted was to sleep. He wrapped himself up in his cloak, his remaining blanket, and an extra blanket he tossed in for Arthur. He fell straight asleep.

He woke up again to someone shaking his arm and repeating his name softly. It was Arthur. Merlin didn't even open his eyes.

"What?" Merlin asked, droopily.

"I need your help," Arthur said.

Merlin rolled over to face the other way, "Tomorrow."

"Merlin," Arthur demanded.

Merlin didn't turn to face him, "What's so bloody important that can't wait until morning."

"Blood, ironically enough."

"What?" Merlin asked, forcing himself to sit up.

"Sir Reginald cut himself on Sir Edwin sword. Apparently he didn't see it when they changed watch."

Arthur helped pull Merlin to his feet.

"If some clotpole hadn't made us ride until dark, maybe he would have seen it," Merlin said.

"Just fix him up, Merlin," Arthur said.

Merlin did or at least he tried. Sir Reginald's cut wasn't deep, but it was long. Merlin hymned and hawed over whether it needed stitches, until he realized it would be far to dark to even attempted stitching it closed. He would have to check it again in the morning. He sealed the wound with his gifted honey and then bound it tightly.

Merlin stumbled back to his bedroll and wrapped back up. He was on the verge of sleeping again when Arthur's asked quietly.

"Have you ever considered leaving my service and becoming a physician in one of the villages?"

"No," Merlin said, wrapping deeper into his blankets.

"Why not?"

"I'll always be your servant, in one way or another, until the day I die."

"You wouldn't have to Merlin," Arthur said, quietly. "You have enough skills to be a physician in almost any village in Camelot."

If you only knew about all my skills, Merlin mused. Aloud he said, "Are you sacking me?"

"If you left my service, you would have a good life, maybe in even a better life than working as my servant."

"Look, if you going to sack me would you hurry up so I can go back to sleep?"

"I don't understand you Merlin," Arthur said.

"Yes, you do. You just won't admit it to yourself," Merlin answered.

"No, Merlin, I don't. Why would you willingly stay a servant when you could be so much more?"

"You're going to have to answer that one for yourself Arthur," Merlin said. "But I guarantee you already know the answer."


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5

When the morning dawned, cold and bright, Merlin found that Reginald's arm did need stitches. Quite a lot of them, as it turned out. Merlin rechecked the man's arm, and then as everyone else packed up to leave, Merlin painstakingly stitched the flesh back together with an impatient prince watching his every move.

When they were finished, Lancelot brought Merlin's horse over to him. "I packed up for you." Then he handed Merlin some dried fruit and a small piece of cheese. "You should eat. You don't look well this morning."

"I'm all right," Merlin said. "But thanks."

"Anytime my friend," Lancelot said with a smile.

Truth was Merlin didn't feel particularly great that morning. He had a dull headache and he felt chilled. He figured he would feel better once they got moving and the sun fully rose into the sky.

The troupe headed north again at a quick pace and as luck would have, they arrived at Lord Byron's estate around two in the afternoon, earlier than any of them would have expected.

It wasn't a very large building complex. There was an outer wall and an inner wall, like Camelot, but there the similarity ended. The castle in the center was more like an ornate house then true castle. It was made in places with stone, but much of the building was hewn in wood. The surrounding village had no stonework at all. The streets were muddy expanses with wooden trails around the outside to protect people from the worst of the dirt.

Merlin was incredibly weary as he dismounted after Arthur and took the reins of his horse. A stable boy offered to take the horses. Merlin unloaded Arthur's personal bag, and shouldered it. Then he grabbed his own bag and then let the boy take the horses away.

Lord Byron himself descended into the square to meet them. He was tall man, perhaps older the Uther. He was rotund but ornately dressed in black silks, overlaid with the grey cape of his house. He looked both pleased and concerned to see them.

Lord Byron bowed low to Arthur. When he rose he said, "Sire. I just received your letter announcing your arrival yesterday. To what do I owe this honor?"

"I'm on my father's business," Arthur replied. "He has sent me this year to do the tour of the kingdom. He sends his regards. I have a letter from him. Merlin?"

Merlin shuffled through Arthur's bag and produced the letter that Uther had signed. He handed it over to Arthur, with a slight bow, who in turn handed it over to Lord Byron.

After reading it, Lord Byron gave Arthur an appraising look. He bowed again. "I am honored to have you here My Liege. We have planned a state dinner in your honor. I'll escort you to your chambers."

Merlin shot Arthur a look about whether or not he wanted him to follow. Arthur noticed and gave him a brief nod.

They took the long way to his room. Byron gave them a grand tour, showing him the court, the library – which was extensive, Merlin thought he might take a look through it later – the dining room, and then finally to the guest chambers.

"I hope it is to your satisfaction, Sire." Byron said.

The room wasn't large, but it seemed comfortable. The brick walls had been whitewashed. There was a large tapestry of a grey owl that covered one entire wall. The opposite wall had a tapestry of a large tree, done in gold, with a crest drawn through its branches. The room had a large fireplace with an ornate mantle. There was a large bed, richly draped and covered in golden fabric. A square table sat near the fire, yellow apples and apricots in bowl.

"It is," Arthur said simply. "Thank you for your hospitality, Lord Byron."

"There is room for servants across the hall," Byron continued, nodding at Merlin. "As for your knights, we have prepared rooms for them at the armory."

"Thank you," Arthur said, and bowed to him.

"I will leave you to unpack."

"Will it be possible to meet before the night's festivities?"

"Of course, my liege. Join me in my chambers when you are ready."

Two hours later, Merlin was exhausted. Arthur was clean, unpacked, and in his finest clothes. He had left to meet to Lord Byron. Merlin left Arthur's chamber, after finishing the unpacking, locking up all the valuables into a strongbox under the bed.

Merlin found the servant's room easily. It was right across the hall. It more of a closet than a room, maybe four feet wide, six feet long, with a narrow bed on one wall, a small box that served as a table.

The feeling of dread in the pit of his stomach had grown since that night in Camelot. He had gotten used to it, and with the constant activity on the trip, he had been able to ignore it. Now it gnawed at his insides like some disease. His headache of the morning had not improved. His head hurt enough that he would be willing to take one of Gaius's headache remedies.

Merlin tucked his bag under the bed. From the castle tour, Merlin remembered Lord Byron pointing out where the physician lived. Merlin decided he would go there, to see if he could get something for his headache.

He tracked his way back, surprisingly, without getting lost. It had taken him the better part of a month to figure out Camelot's winding passages. This castle was much smaller, more logically laid out. It was easier to figure out where to go.

Merlin found the physician's chambers and knocked on the door. The door wasn't latched and when he knocked, it came open.

"Hello," Merlin called, looking into the gap. Then he pushed the door the rest of the way open. His mouth hung open in shock.

The room wasn't as large or as grand as Gaius's chambers in Camelot. But every available space had been filled by an injured person. There must have been almost twenty people, mostly men, but there were women and children huddled in corners and on beds. It looked like when Camelot had been attacked by Cendred.

A man walked over to meet him, gracefully stepping around the wounded, like a dancer. He was shorter than Merlin, but thin, like him. He had salt and pepper hair and a beard that was fully grey. He wore dark pants and shirt like Merlin, but he had a cape of dark blue over it.

His eyes twinkled and he flashed a smile as he approached, "Can I help you with something?" he asked. "You're with Prince Arthur's group correct?"

"Yes," Merlin replied, letting his eyes flick to the room, and then realizing he was staring, he brought his attention back to the man in front of him. "I'm Prince Arthur's servant. I came to get a headache remedy. But it looks like you've got your hands full as it is."

"Your master has a headache?" he asked.

"My master is a headache," Merlin said, without thought.

Merlin's stomach clenched. He bantered with Arthur all the time. People around Camelot were used to their unending retorts, the picking that went back and forth between them. But they were in a totally new place. He always managed to keep his tongue civil and act like a perfectly normal servant when he had too. Stupid headache.

To his relief, the man in front of him burst out laughing. He laughed so hard, that he leaned over and took a hold of the door for support.

"Aren't they all," he replied, when he recovered. "So I take it you're the one with the headache?"

Merlin nodded.

Still snickering, he said, "Come in. I have something made up in the back."

Merlin followed him in and looked at the wounded. Some were awake, some were sleeping. Most of the wounds looked like injuries that would be received in combat, only none of these people looked like soldiers.

The man led him to a small chamber off the main one. This room was full to the brim with shelves of potions, not too different than Gaius's rooms. Only this room was more organized and cleaner then his and Gaius's home could ever be. He gestured that Merlin sit down on the chair.

"What's your name?" the man asked, leaning up against his desk.

"Merlin."

"I'm Linlon. So Merlin, you're Arthur's personal servant, which if the rumors are true, that would make you Gaius's ward?"

"Yes," Merlin said surprised. "You know Gaius?"

Linlon gave him another hearty smile, "There are very few who practice our profession who don't know Gaius. How is it that you became his ward?"

"He and my mother were old friends. She asked him to look out for me."

"Who's your mother?" he asked rummaging around his bottles.

"Her name is Hunith. She lives in Ealdor, in Cendred's kingdom."

The man turned to him. His expression changed from mildly amused to shock and surprise. "Really? A woman named Hunith? Who lives in Cendred's kingdom? She's a good friend to Gaius?"

"Do you know her?" Merlin asked, puzzled.

Linlon frowned, "If it's the same Hunith, then yes, I knew your mother. She was a beautiful woman, very kind and intelligent. That would make your father…"

His words dropped off. Linlon eyes trailed on Merlin like he was seeing him there for the first time. Linlon's jaw dropped.

"You are Hunith's son?"

"Yes," Merlin said. He was feeling uncomfortable.

"Hunith who had a good friend named Gauis?"

"Yeah," Merlin said.

"Was Gauis your mother's friend or was he her brother?"

Merlin found himself taking steps backward, toward the door. He didn't like where this was going, but he had no idea where it could go.

"I don't know. My mother never spoke of family. I thought we didn't have any. She only spoke of Gaius when she sent me to live with him. I suppose he could be my uncle, he certainly cares for me like one."

Linlon said, "That would mean that…" Then he dropped off, sat down at his desk and stared at Merlin.

When Linlon spoke again, he was almost yelling, "Are you crazy? Why on earth are you living inside the very walls of Camelot, serving royals no less?"

"What do you mean?" Merlin couldn't figure out where this conversation went wrong. This man who he met three minutes ago seemed to know that Merlin had magic. Numb with shock, Merlin just stared at him, wondering why he hadn't just brought some headache remedies with him.

Merlin felt the fear build in his gut. He was in process of turning to flee, when Linlon raised his hands in a gesture to ask him to wait. Linlon stood, and then walked over very slowly, his hands up. He gave Merlin another appraising look and then gave him a warm comforting smile. He put a hand on Merlin's shoulder.

"I'm sorry if I've worried you, son. I owe my life to Gaius. Many healers have magic Merlin, me included. Don't get me wrong, I don't have enough magic to cast the most basic of spells. I just have a knack for healing. Most of the healers in the kingdom who are still alive owe our lives to Gaius. He told us what to say and how to act with the king in order to save our lives.

"Gaius provided a great service to the kingdom on those days. He prevented Uther from killing all of the people who could heal. Could you possibly image how much trouble we'd all be in if we didn't have any healers?

"If your mother is the Hunith that I knew, the only reason she would send you to Gaius was to protect you. The only reason that you would need protection is if you have magic. If your mother Hunith is the one I knew, and looking at you there is no doubt that she is, then I have a good idea who your father is. With him as your father, there no way you couldn't have magic. You don't need to say anything. It all fits together."

Merlin just stared at the man in front of him. He had just admitted to Merlin that he had magic. Merlin was servant to the crown prince and constantly at the prince's side. The confession put Linlon's life literally in Merlin's hands. The man had just trusted him with his life.

When Merlin didn't answer, Linlon continued, "Why are you serving Arthur Pendragon though? It's bad enough that you live inside the walls of Camelot, but I suppose Gaius can offer some protection. But serving royals? It's very dangerous, especially for you."

Merlin was on shaky ground, but he needed to say something. He answered carefully, "I got my position as servant by a twist of fate. I saved Arthur's life, and Uther made me his servant on the spot. I wasn't in position to refuse. Arthur tried to talk his father out of it, we had already been into two fights before that point, but Uther was adamant that I should stay."

"How long have you been serving him?"

"Almost four years."

"Does he suspect you?"

Merlin didn't answer.

Linlon gave his shoulder a squeeze and then let it go. "Good. Now about this headache…"

Linlon steered Merlin over to a chair. Merlin sat down. Linlon put a hand on his forehead, and then frowning, he put his hand to the back of his neck. "You have a fever," he stated simply. "That's probably what's causing the headache. Do you have any other pain? Any other symptoms?"

"A nagging stomachache," Merlin said.

"Are you still eating and drinking?"

Merlin nodded.

"You've probably just gotten run down then," Linlon said. "Have you been busy lately?"

"Have I ever," Merlin said, agreeing.

Linlon walked over to his medicine supply. He pulled out a two separate potions. He handed the first to him, it was grayish white. "This one will help both with the pain from your head and will make the fever go away. There should be enough there for 4 doses."

"Willow bark?" Merlin asked.

"Exactly." Linlon handed the other bottle to Merlin. "This is a restorative potion with a pain reliever and a sleeping draught. Take it the next few nights right before bed."

Merlin uncorked it and sniffed the bottle. "What's in it? Besides the lavender"

Linlon smiled, "You're good. It does have lavender, but the main sleeping portion is comes from the poppy flower. The restorative comes from the hips of roses, the water left from stewed seaweed, the juice of a cabbage, and finely ground flax."

"How does it taste?" Merlin asked, putting the lid back on.

"Terrible. It's both sickly sweet and bitter, and it's got a grainy texture besides. But it works. Ask anyone around."

Merlin rubbed his forehead, "Thank you." He fumbled into his pockets for the money he had there. "How much for the potions?"

He shook his head and then gave him a slight bow, "I cannot accept money from you."

Merlin looked at him, showing his confusion.

Linlon just smiled back, a sunny grin full of mischief. "Byron provides well for me and I owe Gaius. Though, I could use your help. As Gaius's ward, I'm sure you've learned a bit about healing. I would like your opinion on something."

"What it is?" Merlin asked, sighing as the topic changed.

"Follow me," Linlon said.

He led them back into the main room.

"What did happen to all these people?" Merlin asked.

"The Saxons is what happened. These are all villagers from the North, mostly coastal dwellers. Their villages were raided. These are the lucky ones who got away and found their way to a fortress."

They made their way to a group of patients who were clustered around the far wall. There were five of them, four men and one woman. They were all pale, barely breathing, and had no apparently injury.

"What's wrong with them?" Merlin asked.

"That was my question," Linlon said. "Half are from one village, half from another. They have no marks at all. Nothing. And yet, they are slowing dying. I've been able to get them some water, but it they don't wake up for nourishment soon, they will all starve."

They looked so similar to the people who Morgana put to sleep during the attack of the Medira knights that Merlin actually shuddered. He knelt down and touched the hand of the nearest man. He could sense the faint touch of magic still touching him.

"It looks like an enchantment," Merlin said. "I've seen something like this before at Camelot."

"That's what I was thinking," Linlon said. "How did you and Gaius break the spell?"

Merlin shrugged, "We destroyed the source and the spell lifted. Everyone woke up. But this is different. Not everyone is affected, like that time. These people have to be miles from the source and they're still affected."

"What about this?" Linlon asked, turning around and pointing to a man, unconscious, on the cot behind him. He uncovered the man's chest and Merlin saw a hideous burn in the man's stomach.

"How did he get that?" Merlin asked.

Linlon pulled out a shirt from under the bed. He handed to Merlin. There was a perfectly circular hole in the center, the edges marked with black, but the rest of the shirt was perfect in every way. It was clean and in good repair.

"Lightning?" Merlin asked.

"I don't think so. Unless he was lying on the ground in a thunderstorm and he somehow managed to keep his shirt clean, and still get hit by lightning."

The door opened and Lord Byron came in closely followed by Arthur.

Lord Byron was saying, "As you can see my liege, this is becoming quite a problem. And these people are the luckiest ones, the ones that got here. I've sent out scouts and they continue to bring back survivors and stories of death."

"My Lord, My Liege," Linlon said, walking over to them. He bowed stiffly and formally to them both.

Merlin followed, feeling slightly sheepish. He bowed as well, and then fell into an awkward silence. Arthur gave him a curious look.

"My Liege," Byron began, "This is my physician, Linlon. He had been treating the wounded. How are we doing today, Linlon?"

"A few people were ready to leave my care," Linlon said. "I found places for them to stay in the town for now. So we're down three from yesterday, now at 18 under care."

"What about the people who won't wake up?"

"No change my Lord. In fact, sire, I was just discussing them with your servant. Lord Byron, Prince Arthur's servant is the ward of Gauis, the court physician in Camelot."

"Really," Byron said, looking over to Merlin with a good natured smile. "He's a good man Gaius, took care of me after a few battles."

Linlon continued, "His name is Merlin my Lord. His mother is named Hunith. She lives in Ealdor, in Cendred kingdom."

Byron's smile vanished in an instant. He looked at Linlon like the man had just hit in the stomach. "Hunith?"

"Yes my Lord. His mother Hunith, who sent Merlin to live with Gaius, the court physician in Camelot," Linlon continued.

Byron's intent stare moved from Linlon to Merlin.

"Your mother is Hunith? She sent you to Gaius?"

The part of Merlin that was used to lying to cover his secret wanted to deny it, fiercely. Somehow these people knew his parents, and understood what that meant. But there was no point denying anything with Arthur standing right there. Arthur knew who his mother was.

"Yes, my lord. My mother is called Hunith. Four years ago when I was not much more than a boy, she sent me to live with Gaius."

Byron's face morphed into confusion and then to horror. The group stood in awkward silence, watching's Byron's internal struggle. Finally, after what seem an entirety to Merlin, Byron recovered.

He looked at Arthur. "My Liege," Byron said stiffly, "having Gaius's ward is a great boon to us at this time. Perhaps he can help Linlon figure out the causes of the mystery injuries and illness."

"What are they?" Arthur asked, looking flustered himself.

"I can show you my Lord," Linlon said to Arthur. "They are over here. I was just discussing them with Merlin."

Arthur allowed Linlon to steer him away toward the patients. Merlin was about to follow when Lord Byron grabbed him by the arm to stop him. Byron was studying him the way an artist studies a lump of clay. It made Merlin's insides squirm.

Very quietly, Lord Byron said, "Is your mother alive?"

"Yes, my Lord."

"Is she in good health?"

Merlin eyebrows shot up, "Yes, my lord. She is in excellent health. The village is well provisioned for the winter. Do you know her?"

Byron smiled at him, but it was grim look. "I do. Quite well. Or at least I did. You have the look of her," Byron shook his head fiercely. "It all makes sense now, perfect sense."

"What makes sense my Lord?" Merlin asked.

"Not now, son," Byron said, gripping Merlin's shoulder. "With your prince here, this is hardly the time or place for such a conversation. I promise I'll explain. After the feast, I'll send a servant for you. You sleep in? Oh no, Jeneil will never agree to that. This isn't going to work. Your mother, Merlin, she's brilliant. And here you are. Safe. Jeneil. But you're Arthur's servant. But surely your father… You're Arthur's servant?"

Merlin frowned, his head still thrummed, and he didn't follow a word that Lord Byron just said. "What?"

Lord Byron looked at him again, and something like affection was in his eyes. "This can't wait. My Liege," Byron called to Arthur. "Would you return with me to my court? There is a matter of importance that we need to discuss with my Lady. Linlon, please fetch Jeneil to court."

Linlon flashed Merlin a huge smile and said, "With pleasure, my Lord, with pleasure."


	6. Chapter 6

_a/n: Sorry folks... Something happened and this didn't get uploaded correctly. Here's take two. Thanks again for reading._

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><p>Chapter 6<p>

Merlin stood behind Arthur in his usual spot, when Liplon returned with Lord Byron's wife. As she walked up to her place, Merlin eye's widened.

"That's not your mother is it?" Arthur asked in a half whisper.

"No," Merlin said, but he couldn't help but stare.

The Lady Byron was a spitting image of Merlin's mother. Her hair was slightly darker that Hunith's, and she was taller and more sturdily built, but otherwise, it was like looking at his mother, if his mother had raided Morgana's closet.

"Jeneil," Lord Byron said, with a smile, "I would like to introduce you to Prince Arthur. Prince Arthur I present to you my wife, the Lady Jeneil Byron."

The Lady Byron fell into a deep curtsey, the folds of her emerald dress making a pool on the floor. "My Liege," she said. "I was looking forward to meeting you this evening. You grace us with your visit."

Arthur bowed back and said, "The honor is mine my lady."

"Jeneil, Prince Arthur. We have an interesting situation. Merlin, would you please come forward?"

Merlin looked over at Arthur who looked as confused as he felt. Merlin asked if it was okay with his eyes, and Arthur gave him a slight nod. Merlin walked forward to the steps of the dais and stopped, giving them both a slight bow.

"Jeneil, this is Merlin, Prince's Arthur's servant. Merlin has informed Liplon that he is the son of a woman named Hunith. She lives on edge of Camelot in a small village in Cendred's kingdom. Hunith sent Merlin to live in Camelot with Gaius."

Jeneil's eyes flew open and she turned to her husband in shock. "Hunith, my Hunith?" Jeneil asked.

"Look at him," Byron said. "He's tall and dark, but the face, and the eyes. It's like she's staring right at us."

Jeneil looked Merlin over and then her eyes filled with tears. "You're right. He looks just like her. And he looks like Dyved and Gorlon. Just with dark hair. I can't believe it. I thought she was dead."

Byron addressed Arthur and Merlin, "Hunith is my wife's sister. They were the only two surviving children of a petty king who died in battle fighting beside King Uther. After Jeneil and I married, Hunith lived here, until… circumstances required that she leave the kingdom entirely. She left us over twenty years ago and we haven't heard anything of her until now. Merlin, you are my wife's nephew, a descendent of the house of Berric."

Jeneil came down the steps of the dais, and pulled Merlin into a fierce hug, one that could only be matched by his mother. Jeneil pulled back from him, held him at arm's length. She put a hand to his face, the exact same way his mother did.

"How is your mother?" She asked him, wiping tears from her eyes.

"She's well," Merlin said, bewildered.

"My liege," Jeneil said bowing deeply to Arthur, "Would you allow me time with my nephew? I have missed my sister, deeply. I will arrange for another servant to attend you."

Arthur was standing there with his mouth hanging open, and the question directed at him caught him off guard. He stammered for a few moments and then said, "Of course, My Lady. Take all the time you need. In fact, I need to check in with my knights. We can continue our discourse this evening."

Arthur nodded to both the Lord and Lady Byron, gave Merlin a bewildered stare, and then left the room.

As soon as he was gone, both Byron and Jeneil turned as one to Merlin. Byron pointed to a door.

"Let's go into my antechamber."

Merlin followed his aunt into a small room to the side of the court. It was a small office room, with a small table, a wardrobe, and a shelf full of books.

As soon as Jeneil shut the door behind them, Byron turned on Merlin with anger in his eyes. "What the hell are you doing being a servant to Arthur Pendragon? Do you have a death wish?"

"What?" Merlin asked. "What do you mean?"

"Hunith fled the kingdom because she had magic, Merlin," Jeneith said. "She was afraid that she would be hunted down and killed by Uther. She and your father, Balinor, ran off together, fearing for their lives during the great purge.

Byron continued, "So what the hell are you doing serving Prince Arthur? It puts your life in danger just being inside the walls of Camelot. Your father was one of the people that Uther hunted down most mercilessly."

"I never intended to become Arthur's servant," Merlin protested, his head still reeling, and aching. "My mother sent me to Gaius because she was afraid for me in Ealdor. A few people had found out about my magic. It's not illegal in Cendred's kingdom to have magic, but magic users often disappear in the night. She sent me to Gaius, figuring he could teach me to control my magic enough so I wouldn't get caught or killed. I ended up saving the prince's life, and Uther named me Arthur's servant on the spot. I couldn't refuse."

"You saved him with magic?" Byron asked.

Merlin just nodded.

"Only the one time?"

Merlin shook his head.

"Does Arthur know?"

Merlin shook his head again. "He doesn't and he can't. So long as Uther lives, Arthur must be in the dark about my powers. Arthur is a good man. I believe that he will restore magic to all of Albion. I use my powers to protect him so he can fulfill his destiny."

"Who told you that Arthur will restore magic to Albion?" Jeneil asked.

Merlin shrugged and didn't answer.

Jeneil said, "Merlin, answer me," in the exact same way that his mother always said it. It gave Merlin the shivers.

"There have been many signs over the years, but it started with the great dragon," Merlin said.

Jeneil and Byron exchanged a look. Byron said to her, "At least now we know why Hunith disappeared. She gave Balinor his first born son. She stayed hidden, became a peasant, outside of Camelot, so that no one would give her or her son a second glance."

"How is your mother?" Jeneil asked. "And your father?"

"My mother is well," Merlin said. "My father is dead. He died two years ago."

"Did they have a good life?" Jeneil asked, looking hopeful and sad.

"They were never married, either of them. Uther tracked my father down to Ealdor. My father left my mother before he knew she was pregnant. He thought that if he left, she would be safer and would have a better life. My mother had me, without his knowledge, and raised me there. She still lives in the village."

"How did your father die?" Byron asked.

"He died defending me," Merlin said. He kept his voice steady, but it was a near thing. "Arthur and I were summoned to get him when the dragon attacked Camelot. He agreed to help and died in route."

"Did you gain his powers?" Byron asked.

Merlin merely nodded.

"Prince Arthur and King Uther know nothing of this?" Jeneil asked.

"No. I have wondered if lately Arthur has suspected, but he has never said anything. It's been four years and I still have my head."

"You can't stay there, Merlin," Jeneil said, laying her hand on his arm. "Uther is ruthless."

"It is Arthur's destiny to unite all the lands of Albion. It is my destiny to protect him, whether or not he realizes it. I need to stay with him."

"Merlin, please," Jeneil said.

Merlin shivered again. The cadence of her voice and the way she formed her words were exactly like his mother. His head throbbed again and he shivered again. Then again, maybe he was shivering because he was feverish.

"Jeneil," Byron said, gently. "We'll discuss this more later. Right now, we have more basic problems. Merlin needs a place to sleep, unless you want him to sleep in the servant's chambers outside Arthur's room."

"Heaven's no."

"And if Merlin isn't going to serve Arthur under our roof, then we need to find someone who will."

"You're right," Jeneil said, nodding. "I will take care of the arrangements. Merlin, come to my chambers before the feast. You are our honored guest. I have something for you to wear."

After Arthur had checked in to make sure his knights were settled and well housed, Arthur found himself pacing around his chamber in circles. The idea that Merlin was the grandson of Berric, a noble, a king in his own right actually, who fought in his father's army, was a shock. Not that it surprised him exactly. Merlin often acted more nobly then the nobles he knew. The fact Merlin was literate, his blatant insubordination, and his courage all spoke of more than a typical peasant. Arthur had always assumed that Merlin was just odd. But now that he looked at it, it all added up to a young man, noble by birth, stripped of his title by circumstances beyond his control.

The one question nagged Arthur… What were those circumstances that caused his mother and father to flee Camelot? It was a drastic move, made even more devastating by Merlin's birth. Merlin obviously knew nothing of it. Merlin had admitted when they were traveling to see Morgause that he had never known his father. Hunith had raised Merlin alone in a small village with Merlin sleeping on the ground while her sister was a lady in a great house on the other side of the land.

Merlin could have grown up here. Even if Hunith hadn't married Merlin's father, as the bastard nephew of a Lord and the grandson of a petty king, Merlin would have had an easier life. He could have even tried to be a knight, under his grandfather's banner. Many families did that with ill begotten noble children. Though the thought of Merlin seriously being a knight almost made Arthur laugh out loud. If there was one thing Merlin wasn't, it was knight material.

There was a soft knock at the door.

"Come in," Arthur said."

Merlin pushed the door opened. Arthur hadn't expected him, but if he had he would have thought Merlin would have looked happy, or shocked, or perhaps a bit of both. He just looked tired and worried.

"Merlin?" Arthur asked. "You actually knocked?"

Merlin shrugged, but didn't answer.

Arthur continued, "I thought that you would be with Lord and Lady Byron."

"They have duties to attend to before the feast tonight. I'm supposed to meet Lady Byron an hour before dinner. She says she has clothes for me to wear."

"You don't look pleased," Arthur said.

"The last time someone told me they had clothes for me to wear; I ended up in a red tunic with a matching hat that had feather bigger than my head."

Arthur smirked at that memory of Merlin, looking ridiculous. "She's not going to do that, Merlin. She'll give you the close appropriate to your station as the grandson of a nobleman."

"Great," Merlin said sarcastically, rubbing his forehead again.

"You know what this means? I could have you knighted."

"Don't," Merlin said with a grimace. "That would be a disaster."

"True, but you have been elevated from the status of a peasant to that of a noble. You are entitled to all the privileges thereof. I thought you'd be happy."

"Arthur," Merlin said, wincing, like he was in pain, "I'm the bastard son of a peasant woman. Just because my mother was the daughter of a king doesn't mean anything for me. She has no land, no standing, she has nothing but the roof over her head and the dress covering her back."

"That was her choice, Merlin. You could claim kinship and get a second son's inheritance on your grandfather's estate."

"No I can't. My mother maybe could, but not me."

"You could convince her," Arthur reasoned.

"I'm sure she had her reasons not too."

"Lord Byron might be able to find something for you. He might be able to give you enough land to make into a small estate."

"Look Arthur, I just met four of my cousins. There are five more. Lord Byron could hardly provide for me as well."

"You don't know if you don't ask. He might have other promises in his keep. He might be able to establish you as a healer at one of the noble houses. He might have need of a scribe, or a courier."

"Arthur, please."

Arthur changed tracts. "They seemed to know your father?"

"They do. Well, they did." Merlin said quietly.

"Who is he?"

"Doesn't matter, he's dead." Merlin said, starting at the floor.

"I'm sorry," Arthur said automatically.

Arthur felt his gut wrench for Merlin. Though his words were forced and emotionless, he really was sorry. At least he knew his mother was dead. He had always known. Merlin spent years wondering about his father. Then all of a sudden to find out he was dead, on the same day that finding out his mother was a noble who gave up everything for no apparent reason. That was a lot to take.

"Yeah, me too," Merlin said quietly. He gripped the side of his head and put a hand on the table.

"Are you all right?" Arthur asked.

"My head," Merlin complained. "It feels like it's going to split open."

Merlin didn't look well, Arthur decided. It was a lousy time for a trip, the freezing nights and the damp mist that hung in the air. Merlin probably took a chill, which would also explain why he was in the physician's chambers earlier.

"We've still got a couple of hours before dinner," Arthur said. "We had two days hard ride and you were up last night. Why don't you go rest? An hour sleep in a real bed will set you to rights, I'm sure."

Merlin's eyebrows shot up and disappeared underneath his hair.

"Go Merlin," Arthur ordered.

"Thank you sire," Merlin said, and with his head bowed, still rubbing his forehead, he left the room.

Arthur returned to his pacing, first one circle around the room, then another. A feeling like dread started to tingle in his stomach.


	7. Chapter 7

Arthur arrived at the feast being attended by one of Lord Byron's personal servant. He was a solid man of few words. He helped Arthur into his cloak, positioned his crown, and then excused himself and waited outside until Arthur was ready to leave. He followed Arthur to the main room and left him when he was ready to enter the hall.

Arthur entered the dining room. It was a smaller event than Camelot, but it had elegance about it that most of the royal feasts didn't. There were fewer tables and each table had fewer people, maybe thirty in total. Each table had a long white tablecloth and across it was a smaller deep blue runner. In the center of each table was a golden tree, about the size of a large bowl that held yellow apples. The plates were trimmed in gold, and a golden chord ran the length of each goblet.

As Arthur began his walk to the head table to his place to Byron's right, everyone in the room rose and the each bowed as he walked past. Arthur took his place and Byron knelt to him, Arthur raised him and together they sat down at the table.

Arthur knew that it was his duty to ask Byron about his children, his family, his hopes and dreams for his part of Camelot. Tonight, he was having trouble doing it. He found himself glancing over at Merlin every few minutes. Merlin was positioned in the 2nd seat of honor to the left of the Lady Byron. This seat would be reserved for the next in line to the Lord, most probably Lord Byron's eldest son. That man, Merlin's cousin, didn't seem offended. In fact the first several times Arthur looked over, he and Merlin and the Lady Byron were laughing.

Merlin's appearance was nothing to laugh about. He looked every bit as noble as his cousin, the next in line Lord, sitting next to him. Merlin wore black, from head to toe. He wore a cloak, the same deep blue color as the table runner. Emblazoned in the back was a golden tree, mimicry of both on the tapestry in Arthur's room and the decorations on the tables. Obviously, it was a coat of arms and colors of a noble house, but it was not of Byron's house. Byron's sons all wore identical cloaks of a pewter grey, with Byron's own emblem, an owl in front of two crossed swords on the back. Arthur guessed that Merlin must be wearing a cloak from his grandfather's house. His aunt to his right was wearing something of similar color.

Arthur didn't notice it at first, but before long he realized that beside the clothes, Merlin's aunt gave him jewelry to wear. Merlin wore a bracelet on his right wrist and an ornate ring on the index finger of his left hand. Both were made of gold. The ring was plain with a flat black stone in the center. The bracelet also had a flat black stone that covered most of Merlin's wrist. Only, on the bracelet, the stone had an intricate pattern in gold threads.

Merlin belonged there, Arthur realized after tuning out the Lord Byron for the fifth time when he was discussing marriage prospects for his youngest daughter. Arthur found himself wishing he could have sat next to Merlin, it would have made the whole thing a lot more fun.

Finally, as cooked apples, covered in walnuts and honey were served, Lord Byron stood up. He didn't call for silence, but it came as conversation died away and people turned their head to listen.

"My honored friends, we are most fortunate to have our future king here with us tonight." He lifted his goblet of cider into the air and said, "Long live Prince Arthur!"

The crowd echoed, each holding up their own goblets.

"For those of you who hail from the ancient lands of Berric the Great, we have news. It had been assumed, and wrongly so, that the Lady Byron sister and only sibling, the Lady Hunith, had been dead and gone these twenty years. We have living proof that the Lady Hunith is alive and well. Tonight, it is my honor to introduce to you my nephew, Lord Merlin, The Lady Hunith's son."

Lord Byron gestured Merlin to stand before the crowd. Merlin bowed first to Byron and then to Arthur before standing. To Arthur astonishment, a group of people in the far right corner, all stood up and bowed to Merlin.

Byron whispered to Arthur, "They are the remnants of Berric's old court. Hunith was the older daughter. There are some malcontents who would try to make Merlin the heir over my wife."

"Wouldn't he be?"

Byron gave him a sad smile, "He would have been, except that Hunith forfeited all of her inheritance to her Jeneil before she left. Hunith wrapped her father's lands into my holdings."

"I don't understand," Arthur said, "Why would she do that?"

Byron sighed, "There is much you don't understand, sire."

The company of people toasted and then everyone sat back down and returned to their meals.

Arthur was miffed. As soon as they were seated again, he asked Byron, "What don't I understand?"

Byron sighed himself, "Have you seen the on the emblem of Berric's house? It's on the back of Merlin's cloak. It's also on the tapestry in your chambers. It's a golden tree; the blue background signifies a deep lake."

"Yes. I've seen it."

"Do you know what the tree means?"

"No."

"It is the tree of life, one of the most sacred symbols to the druids."

"Merlin's grandfather was a druid?" Arthur said shocked.

"No. But his emblem happened to have the same tree. To Berric and his forebears, the tree and the lake represented the life and nature, the natural order to the world. To your father, during the purge, the coat of arms itself was proof enough of sorcery. Hunith got wind of the plan to arrest both her and my wife. To protect Jeneil, who by that point was married to me, pregnant, and already had two small children, she dissolved the house of Berric, gave me the lands, and fled. She hoped that between her leaving, my friendship to your father, and her pregnancy, that Jeneil would be spared. And she was. She was questioned and released."

Arthur felt anger at his father burn in his stomach on Merlin's behalf. Hunith wasn't a sorcerer any more than Merlin was. Merlin would have be heir to lands of his own.

"That shouldn't have happened," Arthur said, looking down, pushing his apple around the plate.

"Prince Arthur," Byron said seriously, "There is much that happened during your father's reign that shouldn't have happened. But of all those things, the great purge of magic was his greatest mistake. I told him so at the time, but he did not listen to my council."

Arthur bristled inside. He said, "On that point, I disagree, Lord Byron. Magic is evil. The great purge of magic has made Camelot safer. It protected us from whims of magic users. Power of that kind corrupts the heart and poisons the mind."

"This is where your father and I always disagreed. A man who bears a sword can use that sword either for good or for evil. It is not the sword that decides its purpose, but the man who welds it."

"Magic is different," Arthur said. "Any man can learn to use a sword, but magic is gifted to only a few. It is raw power."

"Not every man can weld a sword, only a man who can afford to buy one and has the skill to use it."

"It's still different. Camelot has been attacked not once, not twice, but many, many times by sorcerers."

Byron smiled grimly, "Which was the other reason that I counseled your father against the purge. None of the other kingdoms killed their magic folk and many of our own fled to them. We may have a strong and noble army, but we are vulnerable to every attack that magic can bring. I've seen the books, sire. They are extensive."

"This is why we need to be vigilant. People with magic are evil."

"With all respect Sire, they are not. They are people, just like everyone else. Their actions, whether for good or for evil are their choice."

An ache near Arthur's heart exploded, "Then why did Morgana…" Arthur realized his error about speaking with this Lord about his half sister's treason and he fell silent. He took a deep breath and then a long pull off the goblet in front of him.

"I am sorry to push this topic forward because it causes you pain, but My Lord, that is the exact question you need to answer. It was not the magic inside her that caused your half-sister to usurp your father's throne. Magic did not turn a previously lovely creature into the monster she became. What did? Try to understand that, what made her do what she did, all magic aside."

Arthur blurted out angrily, "It was the magic. It had to be the magic."

Byron continued, "Are you sure? The Lady Morgana had been lied to since birth. She was not Gorlois daughter. She was your father daughter. Your father never told her. She had magical gifts. People with magic ended up dead in Camelot. Imagine if you can Prince, how that must have been. She couldn't tell anyone what was going on with her, lest she be executed. She lived every day in fear. I do not know the Lady Morgana well, in fact I have not had words with her since Gorlois died, but I do know this... Magic did not corrupt her. She was corrupted because of her anger, which stemmed from her fear. Her fear came not from magic, but fear of your father."

Arthur looked at Byron, feeling raw emotional pain over his heart. He wanted to tune it out. He wanted to stop listening. But there was truth in the words, and Byron was known for his wise council.

"Magic is not evil, anymore than a sword is. The person with it can weld it for good or for evil. It is a choice."

"Have you met any person who has used magic for good?" Arthur shot back.

Byron smiled, "Yes my Lord. As have you."

Arthur was about to deny that he knew anyone with magic, when the doors to the chamber burst open. Two of Byron's knights, wearing their grey cloaks, were half dragging a man into the center of the room.

Arthur jumped to his feet when he saw the man's face, bruised and bloody, deathly pale.

"Gwaine," he shouted. "Unhand him. He is a knight of Camelot."

The guards let go quickly and Gwaine fell to ground, landing on his side.

Arthur turned to tell Merlin to help him, but Merlin was already out of his seat, his blue cape billowing behind him as he rushed to the fallen man.

"What is this?" Arthur demanded of Byron.

"Answer the question," Byron said to his knights.

The taller of the two men, who looked a bit like Merlin, said to Byron, "Father, there is no intention of treason. This man was found on one of the patrols. We knew he was a knight. He insisted that he be brought to the Prince immediately, before getting medical treatment. We have done so."

"Then why were you dragging him," Arthur demanded.

Merlin answered up, "Because his leg is a mess. I need to get him to the infirmary."

"Wait Merlin," Gwaine said.

Merlin helped Gwaine into a standing position on his good leg. Lancelot materialized from nowhere, and griped him under the arm on the other side. Gwaine leaned heavily on them both, his face drawn in pain. Arthur walked to the middle of the room.

Gwaine addressed him directly, with none of his usual witticisms. "The Saxons my Lord. They're coming, twenty thousand in total."

"I've never heard of an army that large before," Arthur said.

"It's not an army. It's an invasion," Gwaine said. "They are killing everyone that crosses their path. The refuges we encountered say they have a fleet of ships on our eastern coast. They pour in from the continent beyond the narrow sea."

"Where is the rest of your patrol? Lord Evelyn?" Arthur asked.

"Evelyn and half the patrol rode straight for Camelot. Lord Evelyn took the liberty of calling an evacuation. The towns and villages they pass on their way are retreating behind the walls of Camelot. The other half of our patrol was sent to find you."

"Where is the rest of your group?" Byron asked.

"Most likely dead," Gwaine said. "We were ambushed and outflanked by the Saxons."

"How did you escape?" Arthur asked.

"There came a point when we knew we were losing, and I was the only man left on a horse. I was ordered by Lord Elliot to ride straight here. He and the other knights bought me the time to get away."

Arthur bowed his head. "When was this?"

"Yesterday evening," Gwaine said.

Arthur nodded curtly, "You've done well, Gwaine. Merlin, take him to the infirmary."

Merlin and Lancelot both slowly started to help Gwaine forward. Four men from the table at the back who had cheered when Merlin was introduced, stood and walked over. With a bow to Merlin and Lancelot, two men took Gwaine's legs and the other two took his arms. They carried him out of the room, gently, with Merlin and Lancelot following.

Arthur turned to Byron, "My Lord, let us conclude this feast and take council."

Byron nodded grimly, "Agreed."


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter 8

Merlin arrived back to Arthur's rooms past ten. The castle was cold, colder than even the chilliest days in Camelot. Merlin still wore his grandfather's thick blue cloak against the chill. Being accustomed to his leather jacket, the woolen cloak fell heavily on his shoulders. His fingers tingled with cold while sweat dripped down from his shoulders to the small of his back. He felt disconnected, like his body and mind were in separate places.

Merlin didn't knock on Arthur's door. It felt more normal walking in unannounced, but never unexpected, like nothing had changed.

Merlin knew, intellectually, there would come a day when Arthur would come to see him as his equal. More like a friend and less like a servant. As the years passed, there were more and more moments like that, especially when they were alone. When Merlin thought about this future, he figured the transition from servant to friend would come after Arthur was privy to Merlin's deepest secret.

It never entered Merlin's mind that he might be of noble birth. So although Merlin knew for destiny to take it shape, Arthur would consider him an equal at some point, it never occurred to Merlin that they ever could really be equals, in truth.

Merlin pushed the oak door open. It gave a nice creek as the hinges moved. Arthur was pacing around the table. When Merlin entered, he looked up.

"Merlin. I wasn't expecting you," he said in greeting. Arthur gave Merlin a quizzical look.

Merlin smiled at him, "I thought I'd come tell you about Gwaine… Maybe call you a prat."

Arthur smiled and then nodded. "Lancelot dropped by about an hour ago. He said that Gwaine will make a full recovery."

Merlin nodded, "In time, but he's very weak. He lost a lot of blood, he's lucky that no infection has set in. He'll need to stay here for a few weeks at least to recover his strength."

Arthur stared at him for a long time, so long in fact that it made Merlin's forehead prickle.

"Arthur, you're staring."

Arthur turned away and started pacing around the table again.

"What is it?" Merlin asked

"Your uncle, Lord Byron, has requested that I release you from my service. Lady Jennil wants you to accompany her to Ealdor to fetch your mother back here. She will reclaim her place in this realm as Lady Hunith."

Merlin felt something like ice settle in his stomach.

"Once your mother is settled, Lord Byron told me that he would fulfill his role as uncle to you, since your own father has died. He told me he'd treat you like one of his own sons; try to find you a good situation for you based on your talents. One of his suggestions was a knight of the realm, which I shot down. That would be a disaster."

Merlin didn't say anything but he shrugged, conceding the point to Arthur.

Arthur cocked an eyebrow at him and then continued, "He plans to give your mother back some of the lands your grandfather held, an Earldom, out of his estate. Since you are her only son, it makes you a Lord."

Merlin found his icy stomach clenching. It was just all wrong, totally wrong. He wasn't supposed to leave Arthur's side. It was his destiny to protect Arthur, even if he never got credit. Even if he died trying. Their destinies were linked. Staying here would effectively separate them forever.

Arthur continued, "I agreed of course. It's a good situation for everyone. You get some land, and at least part of your title that should have had. I can find a servant who can actually serve and does what I tell him to do."

The words fell from Arthur's mouth with some of the usual wit that followed them around wherever they went, but it fell flat. Arthur didn't look upset, but he certainly didn't seem happy about it either. They stood in silence for a very long time.

"Aren't you going to say something?" Arthur asked.

"You don't want me as your servant anymore?"

The look Arthur gave Merlin was incredulous.

"Do I want you as my servant? That's beside the point. Lord Byron is long standing ally to Camelot and friend to my father. He has made a reasonable request to elevate his nephew from the status of a peasant to that of a lord. How can I say no? You are of noble birth, I can't deny that. I can't very well have you, or anyone of noble birth, as a servant. Besides, it's a better situation for you. You won't be washing floors or mucking out stables anymore. Who am I to stand in your way? Who am I to deny Lord Byron of his nephew?"

"So you don't want me as your servant," Merlin said.

"Merlin," the exasperation in Arthur's voice was almost angry. "You have been the most loyal servant I have ever had. But I would guess that is because of your natural nobility. You were striped of your title before you were even born. It would be a crime for me to hold you back because I enjoy your company."

Merlin could feel the slow throb of his heart in his temples. The willow bark potion was wearing off.

Arthur continued, "Besides, it's not like we'll never see each other again. You still have a life in Camelot. You're still the best man for Gaius's job when he retires. If anything, this makes that transition easier. Gaius himself was of noble birth. And of course, you'll have to pay taxes on your land."

"Right," Merlin said, rubbing his forehead where the pain of his headache was most intense.

"Don't you think so?"

Merlin stared back at him, his head pounding. "Consider it this way, Arthur. My mother gave away everything she owned and walked out of her life, never to return. She raised me alone, a peasant, and far from any person she ever knew. If she had wanted, she could have gone back, at any time. Even after I had left Ealdor to come and live with Gaius, she stayed."

"What's your point?"

"Maybe my mother has a good reason to stay in Ealdor."

"Which is what?"

Merlin shook his head, and sighed, "I have no idea. That's why I want to talk to her before I accept any land or titles from Lord Byron."

Arthur looked at him puzzled, "Do you think Lord Byron's offer is base?"

Merlin shook his head, "No, nothing like that. He is a good and noble man. It just doesn't add up, something about it feels off."

"Are you going to go with your aunt to Ealdor to see you mother?"

"I'd like to, with this invasion, more than ever. I'd like to see her safe inside the walls of a castle. Would you release me for that time?"

"Of course Merlin," Arthur said, "I already said I would."

"I meant are willing to hold my position until I figure this all out?"

"What?"

"I'd like you to hold my position as your servant."

"Why?"

Annoyance flashed through his headache. Sometimes Arthur was thicker than the stone walls that held up the roof. Merlin turned and looked out the window at the black night sky.

"There could be a hundred reasons that caused my mother to leave and not want to return. If she doesn't come back, it would make it impossible for me to accept Lord Byron's offer of title and land. Without those things, I'm still just Merlin, the peasant son of Hunith, the peasant, from Ealdor."

Arthur stared at him blankly.

Merlin went on, "I'm happy in Camelot. I enjoy my work with Gaius. As much as I hate to admit it, I do enjoy being your servant. If this all comes to nothing, I just want to make sure I don't lose my place."

Arthur walked over and grasped Merlin's shoulder. "There will always be a place for you at my court, Merlin. Always."

There was a soft knock at the door. Arthur dropped his arm from Merlin's shoulder and turned toward the door.

"Come in," Arthur called to it.

What looked like a much younger, much shorter, Lord Byron opened the door and took a few tentative steps in. "My liege, please excuse me. I have come to fetch Lord Emrys for my mother. My father thought he might be here."

Merlin stared at his cousin, his stomach clenching. It was Gibbs, the youngest son of Lord Byron. He was in training to be a knight, but not yet old enough to do much, he might have been ten years old. "What did you call me?"

"Lord Emrys."

"Why? My name is Merlin."

It was a name of legend, not actual fact. Enough people knew that legend that if Merlin had the audacity to call himself Lord Emrys, he'd be walking through life with a large target on his back. Gibbs smiled at him and gave him a patronizing look.

"Your given name is Merlin. It's what people call you before you assume your title. When you inherit a title directly from your father, like my oldest brother William will do someday, he won't be Sir William anymore, he'll be Lord Byron. It's like a second name. My brother is called William Byron."

"So you're telling me that I have a second name, and it's Emrys."

"That's what my mother said."

"How would she know?"

The kid shrugged, "I figured it was your father's name."

"It's not," Merlin said shortly.

"Are you sure?" Gibbs asked. "I thought you said your father left your mother before he knew she was pregnant."

"He did."

"And I thought you said you only met him just briefly before he died."

The words hit Merlin like a wave of hot water. At the time that he and Arthur had talked about their missing parents, Merlin hadn't met his father. He could feel Arthur's eyes dig into his back at the apparent lie.

"That's true." Merlin said to his cousin, mentally back pedaling for the questions from Arthur he knew were coming.

His young cousin went on, "It is possible then that you don't know as much about things as you think you do."

Merlin's head pounded again, "That is probably true," he conceded.

"Merlin Emrys," Arthur said from over his shoulder. "It has a nice ring to it."

The words sounded strange coming from Arthur's mouth. It made them more real, more present, and irrevocably final. Like the two halves of his life, his magic half and his servant half, banged together so hard that they fused. It would only figure that he would actually have a second name and that name would be Emrys, the name that the druids always called him. Now not only was he a lord, but he was actually Lord Emrys. He had better learn a shield spell to cast on himself when he walked around in public.

Merlin looked over to Arthur and saw the questions dancing on his face.

To his cousin he said, "Tell Lady Jeneil that I'll there in a few minutes. I need to finish up this conversation with the prince first, since I won't be returning to Camelot with him when he leaves tomorrow."

Gibbs nodded and said, "Thank you Merlin, I'll let her know. To be honest, that was all she wanted to know. Good night sire."

"Good night," Arthur said formally with a slight bow.

With a bow back, Gibbs left the room, the door squeaked again as it shut.

"I thought you said you never knew your father," Arthur began with a questioning look. He sat down at the table and gestured for Merlin to join him. Merlin did, taking the chair directly across.

"When we talked that time on the way to see Morgause, I had never met my father."

"You met him since?" Arthur asked.

Merlin nodded.

"When? Why didn't I know about it?"

If there had ever been a time to admit something of his magic to Arthur it would be now. But Merlin didn't ever want Arthur to be forced to choose between loyalty to his father and loyalty to his servant.

In many respects, Arthur was a simple man. Things were right, or they weren't. When things were right, he left well enough alone and didn't question it too much. If he hadn't been that way, Merlin would have been discovered long ago. When things were wrong though, Arthur would stop at nothing to make it right.

Merlin having magic might fall on the wrong side of Arthur's moral compass. If it did, no matter what Arthur chose to do, it would break him. If he let Merlin go free or ignored it, he'd be betraying his father. If he killed Merlin or let him be executed, Arthur would never forgive himself, just like Merlin would never forgive himself if anything happened to Arthur.

They had been walking this careful path for a long time, where Merlin played dumb and Arthur didn't ask too many nosy questions. It had worked thus far. The longer they walked on the path, the harder it became to manage.

As much as Merlin might want to share his secret, he just couldn't do it. His magical skills brought up with it a whole slew of questions, all of which were horribly awkward, and some of which he didn't want to think about ever again, much less try to explain to Arthur. Like for example, how the dragon escaped, or why he poisoned Morgana.

Right now, he needed a decent answer for Arthur about his father.

"I met him not long after that," Merlin said. "Rather unexpectedly. I wouldn't have known it was him at all except that Gaius told me who he was. He died two days later."

"How did he die?"

Merlin stayed silent racking his brain for an answer that didn't bring up more questions. He couldn't say he was stabbed because that would require a story. Before Merlin could stumble out a semi-coherent lie, Arthur removed the need to answer it. He asked…

"Why didn't you say anything?"

That one Merlin could work with easily.

"It was too painful."

Arthur's eyes narrowed for a moment and then he said, "Wait I remember. There were those days about two years ago right before the knights of Medira attacked, right before Morgana disappeared. You were acting really down. That's what that was about?"

Merlin shrugged. The true answer was no, but it was a similar reason. Switch out grief for a father with grief of a girl you love, and it was identical.

"You could have said something Merlin," Arthur said.

"What good would it have done?" Merlin asked back. "It wouldn't have changed anything. I didn't want to talk about it."

"I could have given you a couple of days off," Arthur chided. "Even if you didn't know him well, he was still your father."

"It was probably better that I went to work. It gave me something else to do, something to keep my mind off of things." Merlin changed the subject. "You leave for Camelot at first light?"

"Yes. We need to come up with a plan of defense for the realm. Byron is going to mobilize this region and head to Camelot with his reinforcements inside this week. Will you join him?"

"If I can. I need to speak to Gaius and to Gwen. It's at least a two day journey from here to Ealdor and then getting back. If I'm here when Byron leaves, I will join him. Otherwise, I'll wait a week or two until Gwaine recovers and we can make the trip together."

"That's probably a better idea anyway, safer for both of you. You two are a danger to yourselves most of the time. How you managed to survive so long still eludes me."

"Luck, I suppose," Merlin said, sheepishly as he stood up. "Have a safe journey Arthur."

"Wait. I have a few final requests of you, commands that you must follow. I will brook no disappointment with these orders Merlin. Consider them laws of Camelot." Arthur rose and stood facing him across the table.

Merlin felt puzzled, "Yes, Sire?"

"No matter what Lord Byron says, promise me that you will not take up arms or pursue the profession of knight of realm."

"Really, Arthur, I'm not that bad. How many fights have I been in? I've managed to not get killed."

"Promise me, Merlin," Arthur said, deadly serious. He didn't even crack a smile.

"Why? It's not likely anyway, Arthur."

"Merlin," Arthur said. He paced a few steps before turning around again. "I can't explain. I just know that if you ever try to become a knight... You just aren't… you just can't… just promise me please. It will ease my mind to know that you aren't in combat."

Merlin stared at him utterly confused, but he consented, "All right. I promise you that I will not take up arms or become a knight. I will defend myself to my utmost, if I'm attacked."

"That's why you are going to either travel with Lord Byron or Gwaine. We'll try to prevent you from having to fight."

"Fine. Anything else," Merlin asked.

Arthur looked at Merlin and then paced a few more steps and then looked back at him again. "There have been a few times… well, several in fact… where you have shown a wisdom of sorts. As much as I hate to admit it, if it weren't for you, I would have a troll as a stepmother, be married to a woman I don't love, and I may never have tried to free my father from Morgana. Moreover, you saved my life. Gaius is getting on in years and…"

Arthur dropped off and stopped speaking. He looked at Merlin beseechingly, like a hungry man stares at loaf of bread just out of reach.

"Arthur, I meant what I said on the ride here. I am happy to be your servant for the rest of my life. This changes nothings. If you need me, I will be there."

Relief showed on Arthur's face, "Thank you Merlin, Lord Emrys."

Arthur extended his hand and Merlin rose from his chair and took it. Before letting go, Arthur spun Merlin's wrist to get a better look at the bracelet he wore.

"Is that a dragon? Arthur asked him.

Merlin nodded.

"Done in gold?"

Merlin nodded.

"And the stone is obsidian?"

Merlin nodded again, "So is the ring."

Arthur released his hand. "Those are kingly gifts. I've only seen their like a few times. One is my father's seal ring. That must have cost them a fortune."

"They were my father's. He left them with my aunt."

"Who was your father that he had jewelry of that quality?" Arthur asked, his eyes showing his surprise.

Merlin shrugged, "A man with good taste in jewelry? Quoting my younger cousin, 'It is possible that I don't know as much about things as I think I do.'"

Arthur laughed. "One last thing, I want you to keep your horse. May he serve you well as you served me."

Merlin found himself truly smiling, despite the awkwardness of the situation, despite that everything felt all wrong.

"Thank you, Sire."

"He'll probably get you totally lost," Arthur said with an evil grin, "Considering you never really did listen to me."

"What?" Merlin said.

"I said, he's going to get you lost because you never listened to me."

"What?" Merlin repeated.

"I said, he'll…" then Arthur's face flushed red. He grabbed Merlin by the arm and shoved him toward the door. "Good bye Merlin."

Merlin walked to the door and opened it with a creek.

"Good bye Arthur. Be well."

"You too."

With that Merlin plunged into the cold corridor, leaving Arthur's side for the first time in four years.


	9. Chapter 9

_an: I wanted to personally thank everyone who has reviewed or taken an interest in this story. I haven't had a chance to thank everyone personally, in some cases I can't, but please know that I appreciate you. Also... As written this is a reveal fic, in another couple of chapters. I'm considering changing it to be a non-reveal. If you have an opinion either way, please let me know. I love the drama of the reveal, but I enjoy the show and they've never revealed anything. Thanks again for reading!_

* * *

><p>Chapter 9<p>

Two days later, Arthur sat in the council chambers at Camelot with Lord Edwin, who had lead the expedition to the north, and several of his other knights, including Lancelot, Elyan and Leon.

"The report that you gave to Sir Gwaine to deliver said that we're dealing with an invasion party," Arthur said to Lord Edwin. "What gave you the conclusion that they were here to stay? Give me the details. What exactly did you see?"

Edwin nodded and took a moment to compose himself. "It was a large encampment, larger than I've ever seen, larger than Cenred's army, larger than the entire Merician forces. I guessed twenty thousand, but it could have been more."

"How did you see them?"

"They were encamped in Dinas Brenin, in the valley along the rivers the cross there. We rode up along the south slopes of the peaks that surround that valley. We were able to see several miles from that position."

"That's just a large group," Arthur pointed out, with even composure. "I've consulted with Geoffrey of Momunth, these men have been seen on our shores before. They landed twenty-five years ago. They were raiders. They raided some twenty miles inland and then took their booty and returned to their boats."

"The group included woman and children sire. Not many, but they were there." Edwin said. "They were building structures out of wood. In the center of their camp, there were already five buildings built. They were gathering stones, and clearing an area on a small plateau between the two rivers."

Arthur paused to consider. A fortress in Dinas Brenin was actually outside of Camelot's borders. That was Mercian land. Arthur had been there once as a child, when relations with Mercia had been better. It was good spot. Tucked into a valley that shielded the worst of the weather, it had two fresh sources of water. From there it was an easy march to overwhelm Mercia, a bit longer march to Cendred, and just a bit further to Camelot. It was an easy place to defend. It was surrounded by high hills and in the middle of valley sat a knoll, so an invasion army would have to climb over the mountains and then still attack uphill. It was a dangerous situation, but it was outside the borders of Camelot. They couldn't attack without potentially making an enemy, or more of one, with Mercia.

"They chose their place well," Arthur said to the group at large. "This threat is larger than Camelot, this is a threat to everyone who lives in Albian. We will send emissaries to the courts of Cendred and of Mercia. Geoffry of Momumth, start a letter of peace of alliance. Stress our common enemy and benefit of a mutual attack."

Leon said, "Cendred's army has been totally defeated. The land is leaderless."

"Then we fill the gap. We go to the lords of Cendred's land, give them the opportunity to side with us. To join Camelot. We offer them protection."

There was a general murmur of assent.

"A dozen knights are needed for this trip. Volunteers?"

A group decked in red all rose, well more than twelve.

Arthur scanned the group. "Sir Elyan, Sir Rupert, and Sir Leon, please excuse yourselves from this mission. Sir Leon, we need to shore up our northern border. I'd rather meet them in the open field than risk a long siege. We need to find a place between here and their encampment where we can face them. Take a dozen men of your own choice and scout a place for us to meet them in open battle."

Leon looked through the crowd and handpicked 11 men. They drew off to one side. The group in the middle still had more than 12 men.

"Sir Elyan, Sir Rupert." Arthur called.

The two men drew forward and stood side by side.

"Your task is to secure and prepare Camelot for a siege. Hopefully it won't come to that, but we need to prepare. Rupert, your focus will be on the castle itself. Elyan, your focus will be on the lower town. Who will help them?"

Lancelot drew forward and stood next to Elyan and three others drew up and stood next to Rupert. That left about 15 men in the center of the room.

"We have divided ourselves," Arthur said gravely. "I will meet with each group this afternoon."

* * *

><p>A few hours later, Arthur sat next to his father in his father's chambers. Despite the hour, just after noon, his father lay in his bed, sound asleep. His servant, John Henry, reported that the king had been awake in the night with dark dreams and hadn't been able to get to sleep until nearly dawn. Arthur felt grateful to John Henry, for caring enough to sit with the king during his hour of need, when Arthur, the person who in all rights should be there, couldn't.<p>

It was the price of being king, Arthur supposed, that the people his father actually cared about, himself, Morgana, his mother, couldn't care for him. The only people who could were the servants. His father was lonely. His only real friend, perhaps, was Gaius, but even that wasn't a true friendship. His father ordered Gaius executed when charges of sorcery were brought against him. Luckily that got stopped before Gaius was killed, but Gaius had never really been the same with Uther since.

Arthur had been in council until late into the night about the Saxon threat. He collapsed into bed, fully dressed and woke up past ten, when Gwen knocked on the door. She was the only person with enough sense, or perhaps who cared enough about him to check on him when he didn't show up for the council meeting.

Arthur stared at his father's pale face, thin and covered with stubble. It was sad. His father was a king, the most powerful man in his corner of the world, and yet his death today would bring grief to almost no one. There were some that Arthur knew who were simply waiting for his father to die, hoping that Arthur would make a better, more just king then his father. Arthur saw their faces. He and his father used to walk together through the lower town. The peasants would gaze stonily upon his father, but looked at him with hope, tentative hope.

Arthur wondered if in forty years he would look like this, haggard, beaten, and lonely. Virtually abandoned by his people, feared not admired, loathed not loved.

No. That didn't feel right. That's not how he would choose to rule, so this wouldn't be his end. He wouldn't be hated to be respected. He wouldn't rule with an iron fist like his father. He wouldn't use fear to control his people. Would he? Or would he have to be ruthless to maintain order as his father always suggested.

Arthur mused on those dark thoughts until he heard a door open behind him. There were a few grunts and the rattle of silverware. Arthur turned to see John Henry, his father's servant, shuffle in, carrying a bowl of soup, some bread, cheese, and fruit on a large silver tray.

"I beg your pardon my lord," John Henry said with a bow of his head as he set the tray down on the table. "I didn't realize you were here."

Arthur nodded, "The fault is mine. I didn't make it this morning, I overslept."

"Ah yes, your servant Merlin didn't return with you from your visit of the outlying kingdom."

Arthur studied the man's face. He had a weasely look to him, sharp nose, dark mousy hair, a pompous little moustache. The comment was made with no special tone or inflection, but it was obvious from the expression on his face that he was thrilled Merlin was gone.

"No he didn't," Arthur replied, keeping his tone neutral.

"May I ask why?"

Arthur hadn't told anyone, not even Gwen, why Merlin hadn't returned. He hadn't had time. All of his hours were used to plan and prepare for the Saxon threat. The only thing he had said to anyone was to Gaius, and that was in passing when they met in his father's rooms. Gaius, who wasn't entirely surprised by the turn of events, took the news stoically.

That said, the knights knew the story, and Arthur was sure that the castle was buzzing with Merlin's elevation in status.

"As it turns out, his mother was the daughter of a petty king."

"So the rumors are true," he said, stroking his mustache.

"If the rumors say that Merlin is of noble birth, then yes, the rumors are true."

"Will he be returning to Camelot, sire? To his position as your servant?"

Arthur gave him a questioning look.

"I only ask, sire, because if he isn't going to be returning to his position as your servant, then in my role as master of the house, I need to replace him. You will need a new servant to attend you my lord."

"It will probably come to that," Arthur said.

"Then might I suggest myself, my lord, to replace Merlin as your servant."

"That would require you to relinquish your position with my father," Arthur observed, studying the man's face.

"I am aware of that my lord." John Henry said, his voice quiet, but with perfect diction, as if each word had been cut with a knife.

He stood there, before Arthur, the vision of the perfect servant. His head was bowed; his eyes downcast. His clothes, though not of royal quality, were well kept and in good repair. His boots were as good as Arthur's own, and quite a bit cleaner.

At every opportunity over these last weeks, since the end of Morgana's brief reign, John Henry had gone out of his way to prove to Arthur that he was Uther's best, most devoted caretaker. He was perfectly polite, perfectly prompt, and unfailing loyal to the king.

At this second, Arthur felt nothing but loathing toward the man. It burned under his rib cage. His gut told him not to trust him, but emotional reactions were a not a sound way to make decisions. If he only relied on emotion, he would have put Merlin aside before he even started.

He ignored the feelings and tried to logically understand this man standing in front of him. He needed to see if his instinctual feeling was truly right. He stared at him for a moment.

John Henry was a king in his own circle. As the king's servant, and master of the house, he could dominate the lives of the people who worked in the castle. He had power of a sort, which fueled his self-esteem. He was smart man. He obviously saw the way to ensure his position was to transfer his services from Uther to Arthur. He did it well and Arthur might have even thought his behavior was true loyalty before Merlin served him.

It wasn't loyalty, it was self-serving pompousness. John Henry wanted to keep his position as the top dog in the royal household. John Henry was as Merlin put it, a bootlicker, who would do or say anything to get what he wanted. That said, he was an excellent servant, the most unfailingly polite one he had ever known. He had also showed the most concern at his father's condition and did the most to rally Uther's spirits. Granted, it was probably for his own ends, but still, he was trying.

As good as a servant as John Henry was, Arthur's opinion about servants had changed. Between Merlin and Gwen, Arthur had found companionship. They were they only two people in the kingdom that treated him like a person, not a title. Through them, Arthur had changed his opinion of what he wanted a servant to do and to be. He no longer wanted someone who could to keep his room perfectly clean, his clothes impeccable and his armor shiny. He wanted someone of his own age that he could trust, a friend as it were. John Henry was not that. He was almost as old as his father. Arthur's armor would never be cleaner, and Arthur would never be lonelier.

John Henry was useful, and Arthur knew he couldn't afford to lose useful tools, especially the ones that ensured everything in the castle ran smoothly. His instinct was only half right. He didn't want John Henry as a personal servant, but he did want John Henry on his side, running his castle.

Arthur said after the pause to collect himself, "Merlin has requested that I hold his position until he settles his personal matters. Regardless of whether Merlin returns or not, you will retain your role as master of the servants. It is not a task that would suit Merlin, and he is more likely going to take the role of court physician when Gaius retires. So whether or not you serve me directly, you will serve that role."

John Henry bowed to Arthur, a smile on his flushed face, "Thank you my lord."

"I would feel more comfortable with someone my father knows serving him during this time, so for now, let's keep things as they are.  
>"Yes, sire," John Henry said bowing again. "Since he is still sleeping, I will return in an hour or so to see if he's hungry."<p>

"Thank you," Arthur said, and with that, John Henry bowed himself from the room.


	10. Chapter 10

_a/n: Okay... this is the first time I've taken some liberties with the story. The whole Balinor Hunith back story never made sense to me as it was presented in the show. A man, who was being hunted by the king, takes refuge with Merlin's mother, who has no apparent family of her own except maybe Gaius... the personal physician to the king. She takes him in, welcomes him in every way that she can even though they aren't married and she seems a virtuous person who raised Merlin, a very noble, virtuous man. Only the king hasn't stopped looking for him and pursuits him into Cendred's lands. From which he flees, never to be seen from again. To me, it doesn't seem quite... complete. So I invented a story that would fit the facts that Gaius gave Merlin in an Obi-one Kenobie kind of way. What Gaius said was true, from a certain point of view. Which point of view? The one that kept Hunith's true identity hidden from Merlin. My apologies if it crosses you the wrong way. _

* * *

><p>Chapter 10<p>

While Arthur stared at his father, Merlin stared at the trees surrounding him. They were two days into a journey to Ealdor that would take the better part of four days. He was in a group of about fifteen people. Twelve of them were solders, wearing the gray cloaks of the Lord Byron's house. They were there to guard the Lady Jeneil, her oldest daughter Isrith, her third oldest son, Malcolm, who was actually commanding the troupe, and Merlin, who was decked out in the midnight blue cloak of his grandfather's house.

From Byron's castle, the ride to Ealdor was hideously long. Arthur and the knights of Camelot would have made a long two day ride out of it. With the two ladies, it would take them nearly four days on horseback. Merlin was used to Arthur's slightly impatient pace, which at times made him saddle weary. Merlin was still saddle weary, so that hadn't changed. This time though, it was the weariness of boredom. It was the weariness that came with that fever that still clung to him at night and a headache that the willow bark potion didn't quite take away.

Isrith and Malcolm picked on each other mercilessly. Long stretches of the afternoon were devoted to them name calling each other. Somewhere the first day, each started petitioning Merlin to be on their side of whatever argument was happening. Malcolm was just older than Merlin, and Isrith, just younger. Had they grown up together, they probably would have been good friends. As it was, Merlin enjoyed their banter, it reminded him of himself and Arthur. Merlin managed to stay out of it the first day, by being incredibly devoted to his aunt.

The devotion had a side effect that Merlin hadn't expected. He learned a lot about his mother and her family.

His mother and his aunt were the only surviving two children of twelve of Berric and his first queen, also called Isrith. Merlin's grandmother Isrith died in childbirth when Jeneil was six, and his mother Hunith was nine. At the time of her death, of the twelve children born to Berric and Isrith only five were still alive. Three of them had died when a plague ravaged the land, two had died in infancy, and the last baby who Isrith bore followed her to her own death a few days later. The second oldest had died in an accident when he was thrown from his horse.

Berric got remarried shortly after Isrith died to a woman named Gerry, who herself was a widow. She had three sons of her own, the oldest was named Gaius, who showed some magical talent. That talent had been fostered by a local healer. By the time Gerry moved in with her boys, Gaius was in his twenties and budding sorcerer with a talent for healing.

Before Gerry and Berric could have any children of their own, the war for Camelot had come. Berric joined with Uther. He left his oldest son at home with Gerry, Hunith, Gauis, and Jennil, and took his other sons with him, including both of Gerry's younger boys. All of them died in the war that secured Camelot's borders.

The oldest brother, who was sixteen at the time, took the title of Lord Emrys, the name of his father's father. He ruled over their land and people for another seven years. During that time, Gerry contracted brain fever and died, leaving Gaius with no other family. Emrys used his position to get Gaius a position in Camelot.

When Emrys was 23, he was injured in a border skirmish. He later died of his wounds. His young wife miscarried three days after his death. The woman returned to her father's house. That left only Hunith and Jeneil at home.

Hunith was only 18, but she took the mantle of leadership from her brother and managed to rule the area with a fair hand. The Lady Hunith ruled for almost five years She arranged the marriage of Jeneil to Lord Byron, a good man, and their neighbor, while she herself courted Balinor, a powerful sorcerer and Dragonlord, as per custom of their land.

"Hang on a minute," Merlin said, squinting at his aunt, when she got to that part of the story. "What do you mean 'per custom'?"

"In our family, it is tradition that if the ruler doesn't have magic him or herself, that they marry a magic user. Our family lands are at a crossroads of a river and the main road to the sea. It made our kingdom rich, but it also was dangerous. He who held the road and the river held trade routes. The land was too contentious for any normal king to hold. So our family mated with the druids and other known magic users who were far more powerful than people like Uther Pendragaon or even my dear husband Lord Byron could ever dream to be."

"They purposely married magic users?" Merlin asked.

"Yes. Can't you see the advantage?"

"I can," Merlin said. "I'm surprised that other people didn't."

"They did. Uther Pendragon used magic in the first war. My father didn't have magic, but my mother, Isrith, did. She was the daughter of a druid lord. She wasn't as powerful as her father, but she could do a few things. When she was mad, she'd yell at me in my mind."

"Like this?" Merlin thought at her.

Jeneil jerked and nearly unhorsed herself. She fixed Merlin with a stare of death and said, "Don't do that ever again."

"Sorry," Merlin said.

"Anyway," his aunt continued, "Uther did realize the power of a magic warrior combination. I've been told that he had no love for my father and his magical children. Both of my brothers who went to war with him had magic. And yet, even with the magic, they all died at war. Every single one of them died. It always seemed strange to me. Later, after I was married, Byron and I discussed it. We suspect that even back then, Uther didn't like magic, especially the combination of soldiers and magic. We think he set them up with a suicide mission. To Uther, it was strategic. Get rid of an enemy and a powerful rival at the same time.

"Then a few years later, when Uther realized that his wife was barren, he turned to the magic that he despised to get an heir. What happened? Ygraine died. That sealed it. Uther in his rage and grief, lashed out at magic, killing everyone and everything associated with it. My family had been intermarrying purposely with druids and magic users for years. Everyone knew it. We were one of the first targets of the purge."

"But how did you both escape?" Merlin asked, feeling strangely lightheaded.

"Gaius," Jeneil said. "He saw a list of targets, the people that the king was going to kill. Smart man that he is, Gaius saved us all. His fiancé of the time, I can't remember her name…"

"Alice," Merlin provided.

"Yes, that's it," Jeneil said. "He warned Alice of the king's plan and begged her to go to Hunith and warn her as well. That is exactly what Alice did. She flew like a bird straight from Camelot, to Hunith. Hunith came straight to me and to Byron. That very day, she signed over all our land to Byron, essentially leaving it in trust to my son William. He would have been maybe 3 at the time. The next, she left with Balinor."

"Didn't the king chase after her?" Merlin asked.

"No, not her. Your mother has a touch of magic, but not really much on her own. Everyone knew it, that's why she was courting Balinor, to ally herself with a powerful magical warrior. She forfeited her land and title, gave it over to a friend and trusted advisor of Uther's, and then she disappeared. She had no more power. She was as good as dead to Uther. Your father however…"

"Yeah," Merlin said, "Uther pursued him into Cendred's kingdom."

"What did happen?" Jeneil asked.

"All I know for sure is that they lived together for a time in Ealdor before Uther found him. He left her, thinking that she would be safer without him. He didn't know that she was already pregnant with me when he left."

"Why didn't your mother come back?"

Merlin shrugged. They were riding at the back of the group, everyone eye's were elsewhere. He saw a flowering bush, a yellow fall mum, on the side of the road. He picked off a half dozen flowers with his mind and then made it move over to his aunt, all without uttering a word. The bouquet hovered in front of his aunt until she took it from the air, giving him a look of wonder.

Merlin said, "I guessing that part of it was trying to keep me safe."

Despite his glance, everyone noticed the floating flowers. The group came to a sudden halt and everyone stared at him in shock. The company of soldiers got out of their saddles and as one, they kneeled on the ground in front of him, bowed their heads.

"So the legends are true," Jeneil said.

"He is the one?" Malcolm asked. "The Emrys of the legends? It was our family after all."

"Yes," his mother said, staring at the flowers. "So it would seem."

His cousins Isrith and Malcolm both slid out of their saddles and knelt before Merlin as well. His aunt, didn't unsaddle herself, but she bowed deeply from her horse.

"No, please," Merlin said, his face burning. "I am a peasant from Ealdor. No one should ever bow to me."

"And yet they do, young warlock," said a familiar voice.

"Kilgarrah," Merlin said spinning around to face the dragon, which somehow had silently slipped in behind them. He was sitting on his haunches in a clearing some 30 yards away, to their rear and right.

The soldiers stood up as one and all armed themselves.

"Hold," Merlin told them, gesturing them back with his hand. He jumped down from his horse and walked over to the dragon. "What are you doing here?"

"The time is now, young warlock. The first part of the war of the kingdom begins. Know this, magic is the only thing that can save Camelot. If magic doesn't return to the kingdom, Camelot will fall. The young Pendragon cannot win this war without you."

"What do I do?"

"You will know," the dragon said, "you will know."

"I never thought I would ever see one of your kind again," his aunt said from over his right shoulder.

Merlin turned in time to see his aunt perform a deep curtsey to the dragon. Kilgarrah bowed his head in a deep bow to her. Then they both stared at each other for several long moments.

Finally the dragon said, "You are kin of Merlin, a granddaughter of the great druid chieftain Armos."

"I am. I called Jeneil. I am sister to Merlin's mother."

"You have restored Merlin to his rightful status, for that I am in your debt. Albian cannot be rendered safe without him. For that, I will tell you that your service to your nephew will reap you rewards beyond measure for your children, his kin."

"I did it not for reward," Jeneil said blushing.

"That is why the reward will be that much greater. The future of Albian is bright for a generation. Then the darkness will cover the land again, but never quite so dark as it had been, and your family will always be in the light."

"Thank you," Jeneil said bowing again.

To Merlin, the dragon said, "Things are going to be dark for you soon. Don't despair. Things are always darkest right before the dawn. I will be nearby."

With that, the dragon took to flight and headed, faster than any bird, toward the North.

Merlin's aunt put her hand on Merlin's arm. Her hand was shaking. Merlin turned to her and saw that she was white as a sheet and trembling from head to toe.

"Impressive creature," she said, gripping his forearm tightly. "Terribly frightening, but impressive. You can control him?"

Merlin nodded. "The powers of a dragon lord are passed from father to son."

She nodded gravely and holding firmly to him, she walked back toward their horses. When they arrived back at the road, everyone there was frozen. Only their eyes moved as Jeneil and Merlin joined them.

Eventually, one of the soldiers shook his head several times, and walked over to Merlin. After a quick bow he asked, "Are we ready to leave, my lord?"

Merlin looked to Lady Jeneil. "Are you recovered enough to ride, aunt?"

She nodded. Merlin turned back to the soldier, nodded at him, and then the group once again mounted their steeds, slowly.

Before Merlin mounted, his cousin Malcolm tapped him on the arm.

"Forgive my forwardness, Merlin," Malcolm said. "Apparently you're used to talking to dragons. No one else here is. I know who your father was and what that means. No one else knew that. To them this was a near death experience. See how they're all still shaking."

Merlin turned and saw their pale faces, shaking hands.

Malcolm continued, "They are simple folk. You need to reassure them that you were in control of the dragon and that you are fit to lead them."

"What? Aren't you in charge of them?"

"Yes, but you are too."

"What? I don't know anything about leading a troupe of soldiers."

"That doesn't matter. You just proved to them that you are far more powerful a man than I am. You need to reassure them that you will keep them safe."

"I can't. If word got out, and Uther found out he'd have me killed. Or worse yet, Arthur might find out, and who knows what he would do."

"Merlin, think about it. You made flowers float in the air and you just talked to a dragon. They already know. You're secret is out. Quite frankly, it was out the moment that you walked into my father's house. My parents didn't know you existed. As soon as they did, they knew about your magic. How could they not? All the people who came from our grandfather's estate knew. They knew your parents. You can't hide from your own people. That's why your mother left."

Merlin felt his stomach clench. He turned away from his cousin and rubbed his aching forehead with the back of his hand.

"This is not bad, Merlin," Malcolm said putting a hand on his shoulder. "My father hand picked these men. All of them are from our Grandfather's old lands. These are your people, some of them are kin to us. They're not going to give you up to the high king to be executed. But trust is a two way street. Tell them that you will keep them safe, you'll be able to trust them to keep your secret safe."

Merlin nodded, "Would you help me?"

Malcolm broke into a grin so wide that checks could have split open. "Of course. You know, it's really too bad that your mother stayed away. We could have had a ton of fun growing up."

Merlin smiled and nodded back. "It would have been fun."

Malcolm gave his shoulder one more comforting squeeze and then turned to the group. "My men. My cousin Lord Emrys would like a word before we depart."


	11. Chapter 11

Chapter 11

The weather turned bitter the next day. Malcolm decided to push the ride instead of lingering longer in the cold damp weather. Merlin arrived home to Ealdor just as night fell on the third day.

Merlin was grateful. He still had his fever and his headache. It was better in the morning, but by evening, it was pounding behind his forehead. He was grateful to see his village. He climbed wearily off his horse, handing over the reins to another solider, and then helped his aunt down off her mount. Malcolm helped Isrith down and the four of them together made their way into the center of the village.

Merlin led the way to his home. He went in, his aunt and cousins, close behind. His mother was sitting at the table, eating stew out of a clay bowl. There was a candle in the middle of the table and a fire in the middle of the room. She stood up as they entered.

"Merlin? What are you doing here? Wait. Jennil?"

Jennil asked, "Is it really you Hunith?"

Merlin mother walked over, her hands over her mouth, tears streaming down her cheeks. "Jennil?"

The two women hugged fiercely, both openly weeping. They stood there hugging for so long, that Merlin had made a full circuit around his house twice before they broke apart.

Finally Jennil said, "I thought you were dead. I thought you were dead and gone and I would never see you again."

"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry," Hunith said, weeping.

"Why? Why did you stay away?" Jennil demanded.

Hunith sighed and glanced around her tiny house. "Let's go to the tavern. We can get some dinner there and maybe some ale. It's a long story."

Jennil nodded and wiped her eyes.

Malcolm said, "If you can excuse me, I need to attend to my troupe of soldiers. I will return within the hour mother."

"Yes of course, Malcolm," Jennil said. "Thank you."

The tavern was dimly lit with a fire that produced more smoke than light. Smoke clung to everything in the room. The tables were particularly grimy. But Jennil sat right down, followed closely by Isrith. Merlin and Hunith sat across from them. The barman brought a jug of hard cider, some venison stew, and some old bread. He gave Merlin a good natured clap on the shoulder as a welcome back and then he departed without a word. Merlin served all the ladies first before attacking his bowl. He loved venison stew. He had already finished his bowl and was mopping it up with the stale bread before his mother began to talk.

The women couldn't seem to get to the topic that Merlin actually cared about, the one why his mother stayed in Ealdor for so long. They started with Jennil's life and all her many children. Where they were, what they were doing. Isrith and her potential marriage prospects.

Merlin was half way through his second bowl of stew before Jennil finally decided to bring the topic back to way Merlin's mother hadn't returned to her sister.

"Mostly it was Merlin," Hunith said studying her stew while she said it. "He could move things before he could talk. I didn't dare move him inside Camelot's borders, especially into a noble household. Servants will always talk, and Merlin couldn't really help himself. I was afraid he would be discovered and killed. I kept him here and quiet for as long as I could."

"Then why not after I went to live with Gaius?" Merlin asked. "Why didn't you go back."

"There were records back then showing that I was wanted for questioning about sorcery. If the records were still there, and I went back, I still would have endangered you Merlin. And part of me hoped that Balinor would return. If I left, I would never see him again."

Jennil reached across and grabbed Hunith's hand. "It's safe for you to come home with me now. Merlin told us of poor Balinor's fate. Please Hunith. Come back."

"I'm not so sure it's safe. So long as Uther lives, the hatred of magic runs deep. Besides, I have a life here," Hunith said. "Friends who care for me like family."

"Mother, please. There is more," Merlin said. Then he continued in a hushed whisper. "An invasion party has landed in Albion. These raiders are brutal. I would feel much better if you were inside a castle or stronghold."

"Are they coming this way?" Hunith asked.

"I don't know their plans. But I've seen the people who have been in their path. I don't want you to share their fate."

Hunith considered her son for a moment. "We'll see."

* * *

><p>Arthur was brooding in front of fire in his bedroom. Rain pounded the castle again. His dinner had come and gone by a different servant then attended him in the morning. It seemed that they were on some rotation, he never seemed to have the same servant twice.<p>

Arthur couldn't remember a more grim time in his entire life. His father was incapacitated, Morgana had betrayed them, there was an invasion party on the ground to the North with such numbers that Arthur couldn't hope to defeat them. And for some reason, he couldn't find his optimism. Even under impossible circumstances before, he had managed to keep his emotions in check. This time, he couldn't do it. He found himself dwelling on Camelot's downfall, his kingship over before it had even begun.

There was a knock on the door.

"Come in," Arthur called.

He was expected another new servant, the one that would force him, give or take, to go to bed. What he got was Elyan.

"Elyan," Arthur said in surprise. "What are you doing here?"

Elyan gave him a small smile and then stepped to the side. Behind him, stood Guinevere, looking lovely in a new purple dress.

"Guinevere," Arthur said, barely containing the joy he felt at her very sight.

Elyan looked between them, "I thought maybe you two could use some time together. You have maybe an hour before the servant arrives. I'll wait at the end of the hall. When I hear them coming, I'll come and get Gwen."

Arthur barely heard him. He was too busy looking at Gwen.

"Thank you Elyan," Arthur said.

Gwen entered the room, after giving her brother a radiant smile. Elyan closed the door.

Arthur couldn't help himself. He pulled Gwen close to him. She rested her head on his chest. She was warm. Her warmth penetrated into him as did the smell of lavender. Then he kissed her, long and hard. He wound his hand into her hair, running his fingers through the ringlet curls.

After a few minutes, she pulled away and put a hand on his face. "Are you all right, Arthur? You've seemed so down since you got back."

He sighed, the weight of everything came crashing back down. He led her over to the table. They both sat down.

"I know we've faced down bad things before. But somehow, this seems bigger than anything we're ever dealt with. More dangerous."

"More dangerous than a fire breathing dragon attacking the castle?" Gwen asked, a smile playing across her face.

"My father was well then," Arthur pointed out.

"He was as powerless as you were. At this point, the invaders aren't even in our land."

"But they will come."

"But not for awhile," Gwen said. "From what I've heard, they aren't planning on marching on Camelot any time soon."

"But still," Arthur said, hardly knowing what he meant.

"It's Merlin isn't it?"

She thought he was upset because he lost a servant? "No, it's not that bumbling oaf who used to be my servant."

"You're sure?" Gwen asked. "Because you're acting like you lost your best friend."

"Merlin is not my friend. He's my servant. He was my servant. Before he found out his grandfather was a king."

"Whether or not you thought he was your friend, he was the first person you saw in the morning and last person you saw every night. He took care of you. He went with you everywhere, he never left your side. Even when you went to fight that dragon."

Arthur sighed. That was true, absolutely true. Merlin did occupy a large place in his life, time wise anyways.

"I miss him," Gwen said. "He always made me laugh. Do you suppose he'll come back to Camelot?"

Arthur fingered a knot in the wood of the table, "For his sake, I hope that Lord Byron gives him some land. He'd get a title, some gold, some servants of his own. He could have his own estate."

"Is that what you want?" Gwen asked.

"How could I want anything different? That's the best thing for him."

"I don't know about that," Gwen said.

Arthur looked at her confused, "Why not?"

"He wouldn't be near his friends anymore. Gaius has been like a father to him. He and I have been friends ever since he arrived in Camelot. He's as loyal to you as anyone ever will be. I think he'd be lonely if he moved away. Just like you are right now."

She reached across the table and squeezed his hand. Arthur squeezed it back.

"My father would never permit me to be friends with a servant."

Gwen squeezed harder. "I'm a servant, Arthur, don't forget."

"You're different," Arthur said.

"No, I'm not. You are. "

Arthur studied her dark brown eyes. He was drawn into them for a moment. He saw a time when Gwen sat next to him on the throne. He had peace in his kingdom, the bravest most honorable knights in the world.

In that vision, Merlin was there. Merlin had to be there. Where else could he be? Not in some distance manor house. He needed to be at Camelot.

"And think Arthur, you knighted commoners. Gwaine, Lancelot, Pervical, my brother. You seem to think that they are knight material. Why would Merlin be any different?"

"He's not a fighter. He would never make it as a knight."

"I know he's no warrior. But why wouldn't he be your friend?"

"I don't know," Arthur said.

Although thinking about it, he did seem to have a whole lot more friends that were commoners then were nobles.

"I've heard talk between the knights. Lancelot told my brother that Merlin was the bravest man he had ever met. He said that he would give up his knighthood if you would bestow it on Merlin."

"Why on earth would he say that?" Arthur said incredulous.

"Elyan didn't know. That's why he asked me about it," Gwen said. "Elyan had a feeling that something happened to Lancelot and Merlin during Cendreds attack. Something that neither one of them were willing to talk about."

"I've gotten that feeling too," Arthur admitted.

"They must have told you something."

"They told me that they got waylaid on their way to the bell tower. They ducked into the throne room, sealing the room behind them. The cup of life was inside. They dumped it out and all the immortal soldiers died."

"But wasn't it guarded."

"It must have been."

"Then how did the two of them manage that, alone?" Gwen asked.

"I don't know. At the time, I hardly cared. They killed Morgause and destroyed all the immortal soldiers, Camelot was safe. But that's the way it always is with Merlin. Things around him just don't always add up. He acts like an idiot to cover for it."

"He's not," Gwen said drily.

"No, he's not," Arthur said, with a shake of his head. "It's an act. I've known that for a long time."

"Have you ever talked to him about it? Why he acts that way?"

"A few times, in passing, but I never get very far. He has an annoying way of distracting me from whatever I was talking about."

Gwen actually laughed at that. "Yes, he does."

"I miss that," Arthur said.

"You do miss him," Gwen said, stroking his hand.

Arthur stared deep into her eyes again, into the beautiful future life that they might have together.

"No. I don't miss him. I'm worried. He finds more trouble in a week than most people find in a life time."

"You really do care," Gwen said.

"You sound surprised," Arthur said. "It is my job to care for all the servants in my keep. Merlin has served me well. I gave him one of my best horses, made him promise to travel in company of knights."

"Why?"

Arthur shook his head. He couldn't explain, even to Gwen, the complicated relationship that he had with his servant. He couldn't even define it himself. Nor could he explain the horrible feeling he had gotten when it Merlin told him that he needed to go visit his mother.

He was saved the need to try and justify himself when the door creaked open. Elyan came in looking anxious.

"The servant is on the stairs," Elyan said breathless.

Gwen stood in a hurry, and joined her brother at the door. She pulled her cloak over her head and linked her arm with Elyan's.

"One last thing Sire," Elyan said. "With the other fortifications, I recommend digging a cellar along the castle wall on the south side."

The servant entered the open door behind Elyan, did a slight bow to Arthur and then walked to the far side of the room.

"Why?" Arthur asked.

"The lower town can withstand a short siege, a week or two, but longer than that, there will be mass starvation. A few extra bunkers would give us more time."

"Good idea," Arthur said. "See to it Sir Elyan. Good night Lady Guinevere."

Arthur's eyes clung to Gwen face as she smiled. And then, they were gone.


	12. Chapter 12

_an: Sorry about the delay. I forgot to update last week, so here are two chapters today. _

Chapter 12

In the end, Hunith did decide to go back with Jennil. Merlin talked to his mother for hours into the night. About how they knew him straight away, his magic being common knowledge within their family and now with the soldiers in the troupe that accompanied them. Somewhere in that night, she decided that she wanted to go back. Merlin had a suspicion that it had to do with Lord Byron's offer of establishing Merlin.

The ride back to Lord Byron's estate was hampered by dirty weather. Winter was pressing in and the November air was frigidly cold and heavy with rain. They rode as long as they dared the first day. The second morning hardly dawned at all, the clouds were so dark. The fires had died in the damp, everyone was cold and stiff. As a consequence, the group got a late start.

By mid morning, the sky cleared a bit and the riding became easier. They came to a bend in the path in a small stand of trees. Malcolm held up with right hand and stopped the party moving forward. The pulled two of his men forward and the three of them rode into around the corner. Merlin was seated in the middle of group riding next to his cousin Isrith. He couldn't see anything, but his neck was prickling.

Malcolm and his two men returned. They beckoned the group forward. They started again, at a nervous lope. The group went around the corner, and then crested a hill.

At the top of the hill, they all stopped as if on cue. At the bottom of the hill stood at least fifty of the dirtiest, ugliest human beings he had ever seen. They were all men, dressed in poorly constructed animal skins. Their hair was matted to their skulls and their breads grew down to mid chest. Their hair and skin were so dirty they were nearly indistinguishable from each other.

What concerned Merlin the most was that they only carried weapons. A few people had some small bags. They must not have come very far; they couldn't have had more than a day's worth of food on them.

Malcolm stood at the top of hill staring at the group below. Merlin drew up next to him. Even on horseback, Merlin knew that they had little chance defeating these men in open combat. They were outnumbered at least three to one.

Malcolm muttered to Merlin, "We might be able to break through them with minimal causalities, but not with the women in the party. We can't risk their safety."

Merlin murmured something affirmative. The two cousins turned their horses around and led the way back down the hill. Just as they were nearing the curve, where the trees stood thickly together, more men stepped out from the cover and stood shoulder to shoulder on the path.

Malcolm and Merlin checked their animals and studied them closely.

"Can we get through them?" Merlin asked.

"Probably, it won't be easy," Malcolm said. "There is nowhere to go once we get passed them. If you have any magical means to get us out of this, now would be a good time to speak up. Perhaps your dragon friend?"

Merlin glanced around. It was no good. Kilgarrah wouldn't be able to maneuver in the thick forest. It was just as likely that he would kill everyone in their party or start the whole forest on fire.

"I need a moment," Merlin said.

"We don't have many moments here Merlin," Malcolm said.

Merlin stretched out with his magic. He could sense all the players around them. There were at least seventy men in the forest. They were on all sides but one, to the South.

"We surrounded on three sides. They're not South of us. We can leave the path and ride through the forest," Merlin said. "Once we get to the river, we can follow it straight into the castle at Camelot. The dragon needs more room to move. I don't want to risk attacking in such a closed in space. If we find a clearing on our way, I'll call him."

Malcolm nodded. "Lead us to Camelot. I'll bring up the rear."

The dirty soldiers had begun to march up the path toward them. They raised their swords and started making a horrible whooping sound.

"Go Merlin," Malcolm ordered.

Merlin stretched out with his magic and chanted a quick spell to guide them through the forest, away from the men. A small blue ball formed up ahead of them, and Merlin kicked his horse in a gallop and chased it as fast as the horse would go. He glanced behind at the rest of their group, strung out behind him like a beads on a necklace. He could see Malcolm at the back, urging his soldiers forward.

They rode hard for about ten minutes. Merlin pulled up long enough to stretch out with his magic again. They were being followed, by horsemen, not nearly as many, but still there were at least ten still on them. Merlin kicked his horse back up to a gallop and pushed on through the forest, the blue ball dancing further ahead.

They continued at a hard ride until it became obvious that the horses couldn't maintain that speed. They cut it to a canter, and then to a trot. Merlin's steed, a war horse out of Arthur's stables could have maintained that pace for much longer. But most of the other horses were foaming on their bits.

Merlin stretched out again. The horsemen were still behind them, a ways back now, but they were still on pursuit.

Malcolm pulled up along side, as Merlin opened his eyes from the spell.

"What?" Malcolm asked when he saw the look on Merlin's face.

"They're still following," Merlin said shaking his head.

"Persistent little bastards, aren't they," Malcolm said.

"We have to keep moving," Merlin said.

"We're not going to be able to keep this up much longer. My mother, your mother, they aren't strong riders. The horses have ridden hard for almost a week."

"Do we have any other options?" Merlin pointed out.

"True enough. Where are you leading us?"

"If the spell worked right, it should be leading us to safety."

"You don't know," Malcolm asked looking horrified.

"Not for sure," Merlin said. "We won't know if it worked until we get to where it's taking us."

Malcolm sighed.

"Well we haven't been caught yet," Merlin pointed out.

Malcolm nodded, "Fine. Lead on Merlin. Lead on."

They headed off again, more at a lope then a gallop. The blue ball danced merrily in front of Merlin. It seemed to him that they were heading more or less South, which by his reckoning, should be in the general direction of Camelot. Merlin supposed that for him safest place in the world was probably Camelot, which was probably why his magic ball was headed that way. But Camelot was also the place where his abilities would get him burned at the stake. Depressing bit of irony.

Merlin stretched out again, while riding. The riders were gaining. It wouldn't be long now until they were overtaken. Merlin chanced pushing his horse a bit faster. All it resulted in was him getting further ahead then the rest of the group.

He could see light up ahead. Merlin galloped headlong into the light. He broke through the trees and found himself on a road. The blue ball danced, came back to hand, and then fizzled out. Merlin looked around. He knew this road. He had ridden more than a dozen times with Arthur. They were in the Highland Forest, maybe 4 hours easy ride from Camelot.

The rest of their group rode out of the forest. There was a collective sigh of relief when they found out they were on the main road to Camelot. They started to ride toward the castle. They had been on the road maybe ten minutes when they heard the awful whooping of their enemy behind them.

To Merlin's horror, he began to hear the whooping all around them. They all rode faster, but as they got out into a large clearing, they realized their mistake.

The enemy troupe was encamped in the clearing. The clearing was probably close to a quarter mile long and nearly as wide, the few trees left were scarred with fire. The enemy warriors had made camp in the clearing, on the North side, clinging to the forest edge. There were probably forty men still at the camp, but from the sounds on all sides, there were many more in the forest all around.

Merlin kicked his horse back into a gallop. The group took his lead and they raced through the clearing at top speed. Before they had made it to the end of the clearing, enemies found swords and jumped on horses. Their whooping made Merlin's skin crawl.

Merlin turned on his horse to look back at Malcolm at the back. He could tell that his thoughts were identical to his. There was no way they were going to get away. Their enemies had fresh horses and at least two hundred men. They were going to get run down and killed from behind. Merlin ordered the riders to keep heading down the road. He pulled up and waited for Malcolm.

Merlin said half breathless, cantering beside him, "I think I can hold them off. This road goes straight to Camelot, about a half a day's ride. If I get them off your back can you get there?"

"How can you possibly…"

"Magic. The dragon. Can you do it?

"I can keep them going yes."

"Good. Save my mother and yours… and your sister. I'll hold them off."

"Merlin," Malcolm protested.

"Do you have any other ideas? If we stay and fight, they'll kill us all and do horrible things to our mothers and Isrith. If we keep riding, they'll eventually catch up and then kill us from behind. I can use magic to hold them off, I know I can. Right here is a good spot to bring in Kilgarrah. You can all make a clean get away."

"I'm not leaving you here alone, cousin," Malcolm said. "I will stay with you."

"No, someone has to lead the group. That's you," Merlin said. "If this works, I should be well protected, more so than any of you."

"And if it doesn't?"

"It will. Go. I'll hold them as long as I can, and then I'll follow you."

"Merlin," Malcolm demanded.

"Look, it you stay here, I'll have to protect you as well as just me. If our mothers get attacked, who will be there? Go."

Malcolm looked mutinous, but he rode ahead until he rejoined the group. He spoke a few sharp commands and they all managed to pick up speed again.

Merlin pulled up at the edge of the clearing, turning his back to his fleeing family. He stretched out his senses and he could feel his mother getting further and further away.

The soldiers rode up to within 50 feet of him. The man in front studied him with a cautious look. From behind the leader, the other horseman jeered and whooped as they rode up. The man in front studied him for a minute more before raising a sword and whooping. He rode toward him at full speed, extending his sword out in front of him. Merlin waited until the last second and chanted a spell under his breath. The air in front of him shimmered.

The sword rebounded like it had hit a stone wall. The rider dropped it. Several of the other horsemen who tried to ride past Merlin found themselves on the ground, their horses stunned.

Merlin allowed himself a small satisfied grin. His shield had worked. It hadn't even been very hard. The riders tried again, but all them bounced off the shield and couldn't get through. The leader of the group jumped off his horse and placed his hand on Merlin's shield. He felt it like it was a solid object.

He stared at Merlin for a few moments. Then his eye's flashed gold and Merlin felt a tremendous pressure on the inside of his skull. The nagging headache that had bothered him for so long flared up like a fire consuming a building. Merlin recoiled, but he didn't let go of the shield.

The man's eyes flashed gold again and again. Merlin thought his head was going to split open. His vision got swimmy, and black dots floated around his eyes. But he thought of his mother and held on.

The man in front of him screamed in rage and he started incanting a spell. Merlin couldn't understand the spell. He could feel the magic that was gathering around them. It made his skin crawl. He knew time was getting short. Still holding the shield, Merlin focused his energy on the nearby tents. His whispered a few words and the world was shaken with a violent crack. Merlin looked up to see not one, not two, but every single tent in the encampment was on fire.

As the magic left him, Merlin's head exploded in pain again. For a moment or two Merlin couldn't remember who he was, or what he was doing. Then someone hit the shield and his head pulsed again. That moment that he knew he was in serious trouble. He could feel the fever burn in his body, even as he head thumbed painfully against his temples. He couldn't keep this up, but he needed to give his family as much time as he could. There was only one more thing he knew to do.

Merlin pulled at his magic again. He picked up a spear and sent it after one of the soldier trying to sneak around the edge of the field. Once again as the magic left, he head lit on fire. It was like the magic in his veins burned him as it left his body.

With a roar that didn't cause him any pain, thankfully, he called out with his soul to the dragon.

The soldier on the other side hit the shield again and again. Merlin found his strength waning. Every time the enemy hit it, his head exploded again in pain. He just needed to hold it long enough for Kilgarah to reach him.

There came a point when all he lost all sense of time and place. Where he would have screamed and wept like a child if he had the strength to do so. But he held the shield. All of his energy, his focus, all went into that shield.

It might have been two minutes, it could have been twenty, Merlin had no way to know, but eventually he saw the figure of the dragon. Kilgarrah flew low and breathed fire over everything and everyone still in the clearing.

The Saxons screamed and broke ranks, running for the forest like leaves scattering the wind, some on fire, some being chased by Kilgarrah. Merlin looked as the dragon made a third pass, and he let the shield drop, like water running through his fingers. He slumped forward on his horse, collapsing onto the stallion's mane.

The horse was a calm sensible being, but even its stout heart wanted nothing to do with a fire breathing, flying dragon. It turned around and ran toward Camelot, as fast as its legs could take it. Merlin had no strength to even sit up, much less try to control the frightened horse. He managed to stay on for a while, his trembling fingers wound into the horse's course mane. But before long, he tumbled to the ground. He rolled several times before he came to a rest in brambles beside the road.


	13. Chapter 13

Chapter 13

Arthur and several of his advisors were holding court as morning aged into afternoon. Arthur sighed. Once again the problems of the court were overwhelming to him. He hated this inaction, this planning phase. He knew it had to be done, hell it was probably even more important than an actual battle, but still. His body ached to move. Just as he was going to call it off for a break when there was a loud commotion in the hallway.

Lord Byron looked at the door with concern, "That sounded like my son," he said.

The whole room stopped as a young man, close to Arthur's age pushed his way through the guard and half ran into the room.

"Malcolm," Lord Byron said. "What on Earth?"

"Father," Malcolm said and then he bowed to Arthur, "My liege. Excuse my rude interruption. I humbly request fresh horses for myself and my men. We have urgent business that cannot wait."

"What business?" Arthur asked.

Malcolm looked murderous, "It will take too long to explain my lord. I need to ride out now, my lord please. Time is of the most importance."

"You need to explain yourself," Arthur said flatly.

Malcolm looked flummoxed and a stammered for a moment. But then he said, "My lord, it was my duty to escort my mother, my sister, and my cousin, Lord Emrys, to Ealdor to fetch my mother's sister, Hunith back to our estate."

Lord Byron paled. "What happened?"

Malcolm looked over to his father. "We were ambushed on the way back, by Saxons. There were at least two hundred of them. We managed to elude them at first, we were on horseback and they on foot. But in our escape, we stumbled into their encampment."

"Your mother and sister?" Byron asked, interrupting.

"They're fine, as is Lady Hunith,"

"How did you manage to escape?" Arthur asked.

"Merlin," Malcolm said turning back to Arthur. "He told me he'd hold them off long enough for me to get them all to safety. During our escape we found the main road to Camelot, so we rode straight here."

"Merlin did what?" Arthur nearly yelled.

"We bought us time to get away," Malcolm said.

"How?" Arthur asked, exasperation running through the simple word with malice.

Malcolm didn't answer directly. He stammered for a moment, until he said, "I didn't see what he did, sire," he whispered, his eyes on the floor.

"You just left him there?" Arthur shouted.

"I had no choice my lord. He told me that he had a plan. I needed to get my mother, my aunt, and my sister away. I could only imagine what horrors the Saxon filth would have done to them. Merlin said that he could hold them off long enough for them to get away. And if he couldn't hold them back, I needed to be there to defend my mother and sister. What choice did I have, sire?"

Arthur agreed, but he didn't want too. Anger and concern were fighting for top place in his chest. He turned around, taking several deep breaths to calm himself down.

Malcolm said, "I can't leave him there my lord. I must go back, now that my family is safe. And to do that, I need fresh horses. Please my lord. It is my intention to ride back to him this very moment."

Leon spoke up from his place at the table, "Where were these men encamped?"

"To the north of Camelot, a half of day's ride along the main road."

Leon said, "My Lord, I suggest…"

Arthur cut him off, "That we ride out, right now. Leon, assemble a troupe of fifty horsemen. Lord Byron, prepare another group of soldiers to leave in the morning on foot." Then he turned to Malcolm, "Are you fit to ride?"

Malcolm nodded. "I would not leave my worst enemy to that fate, much less my kin. I ride with you."

The young man's face showed nothing but anguish. As angry as Arthur was about him leaving Merlin to the whims of the Saxons, Arthur knew it must have cost him dearly to leave Merlin there. He wouldn't have done it if there had been any other way.

Arthur's chest burned at the thought of Merlin's idiocy. Anger poured out of his very skin. What, in name of all that was holy, did Merlin think he was going to do to distract an encampment of 200 soldiers?

Fast on the heels of that thought was the realization that whatever Merlin did, it worked, which meant that Merlin was probably dead.

Arthur rubbed his hand on his forehead, gripped his other hand on a chair at the table. Arthur couldn't stand to think what the Saxons must have done to Merlin after his family got away. Grief pierced his gut, raw and hot, like a physical wound.

People left the rooms in a hurry, leaving only Lord Byron and a few other nobles still around the table. Arthur didn't leave. He made brief eye contact with Gaius. Gaius looked stunned. He sat at that table staring at his hands.

"My Liege?" Byron asked. When he didn't respond Lord Byron said, "Prince Arthur?"

Arthur felt a hand on his shoulder. He looked up to see Lord Byron concerned face staring back at him.

"Are you all right my lord?"

Arthur didn't answer, truthfully he couldn't.

Apparently he didn't need too.

"My Lord," Byron said in a fatherly tone, "We don't know if Merlin's dead. We don't know anything except that he was able to buy enough time for my son to get my wife, Merlin's mother, and my daughter to safety. I don't know how he managed it. You don't know how he managed it. But it was done. That is all we know for certain. Stick with the facts. Don't grieve him before you know that he's dead."

Arthur looked up into Byron's face. Byron looked concerned for him, something he saw quite often between other fathers and sons, even between Merlin and Gaius, just never from his own father, especially now. Byron squeezed his shoulder.

"And if my nephew did sacrifice his life to save them, there will be time to grieve, after we're safe."

"You talk of grief?" Camlan, Uther's advisor said. "Why would Arthur grieve a servant? Surely he will find another servant to replace him in a trice. Any servant would gladly serve the future king. This issue with the servant is a side issue."

Byron's eyes flashed angrily, "You believe that my nephew's life is a side issue?"

Camlan raised his hands, "I said that badly. I knew Merlin. He was a good man, loyal to Arthur. His sacrifice is heroic. All I meant is that right now Arthur's concern should be to drive these invaders from our land."

"Arthur shouldn't care about his servant?" Byron asked carefully.

"Of course he should care, but his job is to the kingdom."

"How can he tend to his duty for the kingdom if he's not allowed to care about the people in his life?"

"Merlin was just a servant."

Byron bristled, "Arthur has no one else to care about. You have isolated him since he was little more than a baby. What did you idiots think would happen? I talked to Uther about this, years ago. I told Uther then that Arthur needed friends. Children his own age to grow and play with."

"Ridiculous," the noble said.

"That is exactly what Uther said – that he didn't need friends. This boy who had no mother to love him, and a father busy running a kingdom. The first time Arthur actually started spending time with someone about his age, even if that person was only a servant, he finally found companionship. He can't help but care. He's a man, just like the rest of us."

Something of Gwen's talk from a few nights back flashed into Arthur's head.

"If my nephew has been killed, it is proper for Arthur to grieve. He's a human being first." Byron turned back to Arthur. "Merlin was very fond of you sire, otherwise he wouldn't have stayed as your servant. He had enough talents to have made another path for himself had he wanted. He chose to stay with you. I didn't quite understand when I first met him. Now I understand why.

"Find him, my liege, I beg you," Byron said.

Arthur saw the pain in his eyes and realized that at that moment, they felt the same thing for the same reason. Arthur gave the man a nod and then he turned and left the room.


	14. Chapter 14

Chapter 14

Borlyn never believed half the things that came out of his father's mouth. The man was crazy and a genius; the likes that Albion had never seen before, or ever would again. The particular expression that his father touted was that is better to lucky than good.

Borlyn never bought it. Why should he? His father was the most talented silversmith ever born. Words alone couldn't do his work justice. He created things from gold, silver or even pewter that were stunning works of art. Queens and princesses nearly swooned while they looked at them. Flowers in gold thread so lifelike, a woman swore once it smelled of roses. Borlyn thought she was probably drank more ale than water, so he wrote that one off. But the fact remained, Borlyn's father defined the word good. Luck had nothing to do with it.

Borlyn could still hear his voice in his head, "Better to be lucky than good, my boy, don't forget it."

Borlyn figured it was his father's way of reassuring him. Borlyn wasn't half the silversmith his father had been. However, being half as good as his father made him better than anyone else in the kingdom. He had always had work and admirers.

His father's advice hit home one dank morning when he woke up later than he should have. Borlyn had finished a flask of wine the night before. It was the only thing that seemed to hold back the chill of the night. Consequentially, he fell into a deep sleep woke up almost at midday, with a pounding headache.

Initially he cursed his bad luck. He had a winter home on his grandfather's estate just south of Camelot's main castle. Waking up late, he would have a hard time making even to the citadel before dark, much less his home. He didn't want to spend another night out in the open in the dirty weather.

Borlyn stumbled up, hastily packed up, and then threw everything back onto his old nag of a horse. The thing was getting on in years. Borlyn would probably need a new one before the spring. He wondered briefly if his grandfather would grant him another one or if he'd have to buy one of his own.

As he settled on the horse's back, he realized that there was a fire nearby. Not surprising given the time of year and the weather. But still, there weren't many travelers on the roads so close to winter and there had been talk of raiders around. Borlyn took to the road and rode carefully. The smoke thickened as he rode until he came into a clearing.

His jaw dropped.

What had obviously been an encampment of soldiers was being consumed by a huge fire. Horses were still tied to trees, swords lay scattered about like twigs, shields were dropped randomly like rocks. There were only a dozen or so men there and they were just hastily picking up supplies and running for the trees on the North side of the field. There were perhaps a half a dozen dead bodies strewn about the field and other lumps that might have been burned people. Borlyn really didn't want to think about it.

Borlyn watched as the remaining men fled, never looking back. Up above him he could see something flying away and it was too large to be a bird.

Luck indeed, Borlyn thought at that moment. Had he woken up earlier, he would either have been killed by the men here – they were not men of Camelot, he was sure of that – or he would have stumbled into the attack that routed them.

The clearing was large, Borlyn decided not to push his luck. He directed his nag ride through the trees on the South side of the clearing, to keep him out of view of anyone that might return. It took him three times as long, but he made it to the other side without trouble.

He rode maybe another fifteen minutes before he saw something ahead. It looked like a person half on the road, half in the bush along the side of the road. With the scene he had just passed it would be likely that there would be causalities.

Borlyn rode up. If it was one of those foreigners, he would just leave the man to die. But when he got there, it was obvious it wasn't a foreigner. Borlyn climbed off his horse and looked at the figure on the ground.

He wasn't much more than a kid, maybe in his late teens, early twenties at most. He was lying face down in the earth on the side of the road. Borlyn noticed the young man wore a cloak of a noble house, but not one that he recognized. Being a silversmith, he next noticed the bracelet on his wrist.

Borlyn heart stopped. The bracelet was made by his father. Borlyn had been young at the time, maybe only six, but he remembered that bracelet. The dragon pattern was truly beautiful and the stone, Borlyn knew now that it was obsidian and it had come from a mountain that spit fire. His father told him it was for a Dragon Lord, someone who could command a dragon to do his bidding. Borlyn spent the next few months pretending to be a Dragon Lord.

Here it was; the bracelet again. Borlyn looked back toward the clearing and then back at the man by his feet, and then remembered the thing flying away. It must have been a dragon, and the carnage in the clearing was its doing. This man was a Dragon Lord and he had called a dragon to defeat the men lying in the clearing.

Borlyn rolled the young man over. His face was smudged with dirt and there were several bruises on his cheek. His skin, were it showed, was waxy and pale. Other than the bruises on his face, he didn't seem to have any injures.

Borlyn gave him a slight shake on his shoulders and said, "My Lord, wake up."

The man in front of him opened his eyes blearily. He looked at Borlyn for a moment and then his eyes shut again.

Borlyn tried again, "My Lord, please. You need to wake up."

"I'm awake," the young man said, his eyes still closed.

"My Lord, what is your name?"

"Merlin."

"Are you injured Lord Merlin?"

The boy opened his eyes and stared at Borlyn for the first time. "My hand."

"Can you sit up?"

Merlin nodded and with Borlyn help, Merlin got into a sitting position. Borlyn took both of Merlin's hands into his own. The left one was fine. The right one was clearly broken at the wrist and it was burned besides.

"Ouch," Borlyn said, looking at it, feeling his own hand tingle. "How did you injure it, my Lord."

"I held off the Saxons back in the clearing."

"I saw that," Borlyn said. "In fact, I owe you my thanks. Had you not burned the whole thing to the ground, I probably would have been killed when I traveled through."

"Are they gone?"

"I believe so. I saw a few stragglers heading North when I arrived."

Merlin slumped forward. "Good, they're safe."

"Who my lord?"

"My mother, my aunt, and my cousins. I held them off so they could get away."

"You did more than that sir. You routed them. My lord, we need to remove your ring, before your finger swells anymore."

Merlin nodded, and Borlyn pulled the ring carefully off. He flipped it over a few times. It was also done by his father. Borlyn would have known it anywhere. He helped Merlin put in on his left hand. Borlyn ripped off a part of Merlin's shirt to make a bandage for the boy's hand. He wrapped the burn as best as he could, and then using a length of rope, and a few twigs, he immobilized the wrist. Then he helped him up off the road.

Merlin started to wobble precariously. Borlyn sat him back down next to a tree.

"Do you have any more injuries my lord?"

Merlin shook his head.

"Then what is wrong?"

Merlin didn't answer. He leaned his head back on the tree and his eyes lolled shut again.

Borlyn stared at him concerned. Had he hit his head? Borlyn knelt down next to him and thought he'd check his head for knocks. He put his hand on Merlin's face and realized the problem.

A fever, terribly high, burned. Borlyn sighed, the man was in no fit state to care for himself. He would probably die within the next few hours. Whether this fever stemmed from the injuries he had sustained or some other malady, he didn't know. What he did know was that this man certainly wouldn't survive out in the open. He probably wouldn't survive even if he was treated in Camelot.

Borlyn sighed in frustration. The man would be a pain to move. There would be no way they could make it to Camelot by sunset with him in this condition. It would delay his return to his home by at least two days. He thought of his comfortable bed and a raging fire. He could just take the ring and bracelet right now, ride for Camelot, resell them, sleep at an inn for the night and be home the next day.

Borlyn sighed. No he couldn't do that. This man saved his life. He couldn't just leave him here. Borlyn racked his brain. Then it came to him. There was a little tavern next to the river probably five or so miles away. It was secluded, not likely that the raiders would have found it. If he could get Lord Merlin on his horse, they might make it there in a few hours. They could stay there for the night, and if Merlin lived to the next morning, Borlyn could figure out his next move from there. If not, there would be no reason that Borlyn couldn't take his jewelry as payment for the help he had given him. Dead men need no adornment, his father used to say.

His mind set on the idea, Borlyn helped the young man into a standing position. Then he laid him into the saddle and secured him so he wouldn't fall off. He took the reins to lead the horse and started the long walk.


	15. Chapter 15

Chapter 15:

Arthur's troop of fifty horsemen took off around three in the afternoon. Being so close to winter, there wasn't much light left, but Arthur decided the mission was too critical to wait until dawn. There was an army of at least 200 soldiers sitting within a half a day's ride to Camelot. Unacceptable.

Then there was Merlin. Lord Byron was right, no one knew what happened to Merlin and there was no point to grieve for someone before they're dead. Arthur had lost people before. It could be argued his whole life was one loss after another. His mother died the day he was born. He lost friends, knights, even Morgana, his half sister. But this was different. Even when Morgana had betrayed them, or when he lost a knight in the command for the first time, he had never felt like this. He was empty, like it was part of himself that was missing, not just an impertinent servant.

He felt protective toward Merlin like he had never felt before. Arthur knew, in his head, that the army was the bigger threat, and the most important problem. But really for him, finding Merlin was a bigger priority. He especially didn't want Merlin to be taken prisoner. Although, he couldn't really think of any rational reason that Merlin would be captured. He would killed outright. It didn't matter that it wasn't logical. It didn't matter if it didn't make sense. He felt like if Merlin was captured, things would go badly for Camelot.

But it was all stupid feelings, intuition, not fact. The hard facts were that Merlin was a servant and a peasant. He was arguably one of the most important servants in all of Camelot, but he was still a nobody. He had no purpose to an enemy. They might, and it made Arthur's stomach clench, torture him for information about Arthur. But given the current circumstances, no one could know that Merlin had been Arthur's servant. Over that, Merlin didn't know anything. They would kill Merlin before they would take him hostage. And yet the fear remained. He pictured Merlin chained and tortured inside the enemy camp and he didn't like it.

Malcolm, Merlin's cousin, rode next to Arthur in Merlin's traditional place. Malcolm even looked something like Merlin in the face, but he was far lighter in complexion. Unlike Merlin, Malcolm stayed horribly quiet. He had explained the situation that had forced him to leave Merlin and then he dropped into a moody silence.

They rode along the main road until darkness fell. Then the troupe lit torches and continued riding. Since Malcolm assured them that the encampment was along the main road, they were able to find their way in autumn darkness. The night was clear and the moon was near full.

Just after the dinner hour, they arrived back to the clearing. Arthur sent up Elyan and Leon to observe the scene. Arthur's plan was to surround them. Being on horseback, with the element of surprise and darkness on their side, Arthur figured that they would be able to route even a group much larger in size.

Leon and Elyan arrived back a few minutes later, much sooner than Arthur expected.

"What is it?" Arthur asked, noticing their puzzled and concerned faces.

"You need to see this for yourself My Lord," Leon said.

Leon turned his horse around and led the way back into the clearing. The air was heavy and acrid with smoke. In a few places, the fire still burned. In the bright grey light from the moon, Arthur could make out a few large lumps at the North end of the field and a couple of fires burning dimly, but he couldn't see anything that looked like a camp. There were no horses, no tents, not even a sound except the rustling of trees in the light evening breeze.

"They're gone?" Arthur asked Leon.

"So it would seem," Leon replied.

"We're too late," Elyan agreed.

Arthur nearly threw his sword in frustration. They would have to set up camp here and then give pursuit in the morning. He had prepared for a short quick campaign. He had neither the supplies nor the equipment to follow the invaders for longer than a few days, three tops. The group following them in the morning would have nothing to do.

A quiet voice from beside him said, "Is that a body?"

Arthur turned to see Malcolm pointing to a large lump which Arthur had taken as a rock. Arthur looked more closely. It did seem to have legs and a head.

Arthur rode forward, flanked by Leon, Elyan, and Malcolm. The rock was indeed a body. More exactly it was the body of a dead Saxon invader. His clothes were tattered, his head at an odd angle to the rest of his body.

"His neck is broken," Leon said. "I wonder how that happened."

"There are more," Malcolm said, gesturing around the clearing.

The men rode around the south end of the clearing. There were other bodies. Some were clearly burned; some had grievous injuries, like massive cuts through their midsections, or missing limbs. The men gave each other puzzled looks. They turned as one and headed to the other side of the clearing.

The group rode up toward the abandoned camp. They got their first real look at it with the grey moonlight streaming in from between the trees.

Elyan cursed. Leon made the sign against strong magic. Malcolm looked shocked, like a statue on a horse.

Arthur for his part could hardly digest what his eyes were telling him. What had been a camp stood before them. Every inch of it was burned. Some of the fires still smoldered in the grass. There were weapons strewn around like they had never been picked up. Cooking pots were still hanging over long dead fire pits. There were horse bridles, saddle packs, daggers, knives, and dried food lying around. Water skins, even jugs of ale stood in neat rows at the middle of the burnt area.

There were more dead bodies, more then Arthur could really make out in the darkness.

"What the hell happened?" Leon asked.

"That's what I want to know," Arthur said, feeling something like dread fill his insides.

They rode around, looked at the wasted encampment in various states of shock and horror. On the one hand, it was fantastic that the army had been routed so thoroughly that they left half their weapons behind. One the other, whatever did it to them, might still be around.

Arthur decided to make camp along and on the road on the Camelot side of the clearing. It wasn't as comfortable, or as easy to defend as the clearing. But no one complained. No one wanted to be so close to so many dead men. No one wanted to risk the wrath that descended on the men who spent their last night there.

Arthur stayed quiet. He charged Leon with the preparations, retiring inside with his tent with his own reeling thoughts. The more the thoughts spun the more they came to rest on his servant.

There were things about Merlin that never really made much sense to Arthur. Merlin was always there, almost like Arthur's shadow. And like a shadow, he never seemed to do anything. He was always crouching low near a tree, or flat on his back in the grass. He was rubbish with a sword, clumsy with a shield, and couldn't shoot an arrow to save his life. And yet, he never got hurt. In missions where everyone else died, Merlin always lived, usually without a scratch.

Arthur hadn't given it much thought before, but now… Merlin's family was in danger and somehow they escaped two hundred soldiers without a scratch. Had he somehow passed them his uncanny luck? By some weird twist of fate, did the entire encampment of soldiers suddenly and without a reasonable cause burnt itself to the ground?

Thoughts came unbidden to the front of Arthur's brain. Merlin pulling him back as the roof collapsed and them just getting away from the knights of Media. Merlin, single handedly, saving him from a group of bandits when he had been shot by an arrow. Even before he was his servant, Merlin had somehow pushed him out of the way of a thrown dagger. Arthur found sleep difficult that night.

By the time the sun peeked into the sky that next morning, Arthur already had divided his army. He sent twenty-five of his horseman riding North, following the probable trail of the fleeing Saxons. Another ten men were tasked with cleaning up the clearing. They had the horrific job to finish what the fire had not. They stacked all the dead, which numbered almost 40 in total, and burned them. Then they salvaged all the supplies, dividing them between the horses for the long ride back to Camelot. He sent them back to Camelot to inform the marching army to head back. He took his remaining fifteen men, divided them in groups of five and had them comb the forest around the clearing. Their mission was to find his missing servant.

He put Elyan, Malcolm, and Lancelot at the head of each of the teams. Within an hour, one of the knights in Lancelot's troupe arrived back in the clearing.

"My Liege," the soldier said. "We have found something."

"Merlin?" Arthur asked, his heart leaping at the thought.

"No, sire, it's not your servant and it may be nothing. Would you come?"

Arthur nodded and followed the man back out of the clearing. They rode for about ten minutes on the path before they saw Lancelot standing on the road, stroking the head of a very familiar looking horse.

Arthur slid out the saddle and strode to Lancelot's side. He gave the horse a detailed look. It was Merlin's horse, without a doubt, the one that Arthur had given him at Byron's estate.

"The saddle bags are untouched my lord," Lancelot said.

Arthur walked around and pulled one of them open. There was camping gear in the top, a bedroll, a water skin, and some dried food in a pouch. But there was also a medical kit, complete with bandages, a couple of half empty potion bottles, and a jar of honey. At the very bottom were clothes, Merlin's clothes, a blue shirt and a red neckerchief.

"This is Merlin's horse," Arthur said.

"I thought as much," Lancelot said.

"Where did you find the horse?"

"He was wandering through the trees. He was close enough to the path that we could see him."

"Any sign of Merlin?" Arthur asked, dreading the answer.

"Maybe, my lord."

"Maybe?" Arthur asked.

Lancelot handed over the reins of Merlin's horse to another soldier. "It's over here."

Lancelot walked over to a small bush on the west side of the path.

"Do you see how this bush has been crushed? And do you see the indentation along the side of the road."

Arthur nodded.

"Do you see the drips of blood on the ground and in the brambles?"

Arthur nodded again.

"I would guess that someone was unhorsed here and fell to the ground. The horse didn't wander far."

"So he was here," Arthur said. "But then what happened to him."

"We rode the trail down for about a mile. On a side path, heading for the river, there were tracks in the dirt of a man walking leading a horse."

"Leading a horse, not riding a horse?"

"Exactly."

Arthur turned to the four other soldiers, "Report back to the clearing. Sir Leon is in charge. Tell him where Lancelot and I have gone. Hopefully, we've found him."


	16. Chapter 16

Chapter 16

Borlyn slept well, despite the circumstances. He and the Lord Merlin had found shelter overnight at the tavern. His room was tiny, naught inside but some hay and a woolen blanket. But the hay was fresh and smelled of summer sunshine. The barman gave him a tankard of ale, a dark bitter brew that stuck to his bones like a meal of mutton. The wife of the barman, a bit of a healer in her own right, put Merlin to sleep in the main room, by the fire on a pallet of rough hewn boards. The pallet didn't look nearly as comfortable as the bed of straw Borlyn got, but Borlyn was satisfied that he would be warm. The wife managed to get Merlin to drink a whole bowl of beef broth and a cup of wine besides.

Borlyn meant to keep a constant vigil on the ill man, but sleep overcame him forcefully and before he realized it, the night had passed completely. He made his way back into the main room as dawn arrived, fully expecting a dead man lying in front of the fireplace. He was pleasantly surprised to see the man was not dead at all. He was even more surprised to see that his color was better, his breathing was easier, and with a quick hand to the forehead, to feel that the fever was down.

As Borlyn removed his hand, the Lord's eye's fluttered open. He looked up to see Borlyn staring down at him in concern.

Merlin muttered, "Thank you, for all you have done."

Borlyn smiled, "Of course my lord."

The young man smiled, but his eyes drifted back shut almost immediately. Borlyn knew at some point they would have to wake the young man, to figure out what to do with him. But he didn't look strong enough to move and without another horse, there was no way to get him anywhere quickly. This tavern was comfortable, the owners were accommodating, and Borlyn thought he might even pick up a little bit of trade at the night's supper.

It was a pleasant morning all things considered. Borlyn had good light to work on a new ring, the barman gave him fresh hen's eggs and a hearty sausage for his breakfast, and the room was pleasantly warm. He was warmer and fuller then he'd been in weeks. The food and warmth made him half dozy. He hardly noticed when the door to the tavern opened. He didn't even look up, figuring that the lunch crowd was arriving.

It wasn't until the barman came in and said, "My lords," in a shocked awed tone, that Borlyn looked up from his ring.

The two men who entered where both dressed in the chain mail and red capes that donned a knight of Camelot. But Borlyn had done business in the castle walls. He had made jewelry for the lady Morgana. He knew Prince Arthur by sight. Borlyn stood up from his work and then knelt on the floor.

"Please rise," Arthur said. "We have come in search of my…" Arthur stopped speaking here and stumbled around for a word before saying "… servant. He was most likely injured in the commotion with the Saxon raiders we found in the clearing five miles back. We followed a set of tracks from where we found his horse to here. Is he here?"

"My liege," the barman said. "This gentleman arrived with an injured man last night."

Arthur turned to Borlyn, "Did you find him?"

"I found a man in the path, yes. But he wasn't dressed as a servant my liege."

"Where is he? Is he alive?" Arthur asked.

Borlyn nodded and pointed to the makeshift bed by the fire in the back of the room.

Arthur didn't run to the other side of the room, but it was near thing. Had the room been less crowded with tables he might have. As it was, it managed the trip in less than six steps. Lancelot kept stride with him.

Arthur got his first look at Merlin only when he got to the makeshift bed. Merlin looked terrible. Half of his face was bruised. His skin was sallow and his face pinched. His right hand was lightly wrapped and immobilized. But he was very much alive. Arthur could see the steady rise and fall of his chest. Arthur felt more relieved than he had ever remembered feeling. Lancelot checked him over for injuries. He unwrapped the bandages on this hand.

"His hand is burnt, my lord, and his wrist is broken. He has some bruising on his face and his chest, but I don't see any other injuries. Considering the carnage we found, Merlin is very lucky," Lancelot said.

"Why is he unconscious?"

"I don't know. Did they give him something for pain?" Lancelot asked.

Arthur looked back to the man who had found him, putting the question to him with a raised eyebrow.

"The barman's wife is a bit of healer, she may have given him something," Borlyn said, "But I would guess that he's too ill to stay awake my lord," Borlyn said. "Perhaps if you shook him a bit, he would wake."

"He's ill?" Arthur asked.

"He was burning with a fever so high when I found him that I did not think he would survive the night," Borlyn said.

"A fever?" Arthur asked, his euphoria at finding Merlin alive replaced by confusion.

"Yes, sire."

Arthur stood up and started pacing the room. "That doesn't make any sense."

"I should have thought it was obvious, my lord," Borlyn said.

"What is obvious?" Arthur snapped.

"I'm no expert in these matters. All I know is the lore my father told me as a young child. But I'm sure that to do what he did in that clearing must of cost him dearly."

"What did he do in that clearing?" Arthur said sharply. "What did you see?"

Borlyn looked nervous and he backed up several steps. "I saw nothing but the aftermath my lord. Soldiers retreating."

"You are withholding information from your prince. I advise you to tell me everything you saw."

Borlyn looked frightened, but he said, "I saw what looked like a huge bird leaving the clearing, flying East."

"A bird?" Arthur asked.

"It flew like a bird, sire, but it was not a bird."

"What was it then?

"I wasn't sure at the time, sire, but if I had a venture a guess…"

"And you do," Arthur said.

"I would say it was a dragon," Borlyn said.

The word dragon hung in the air for several moments, creating a hushed and horrible silence.

Finally Arthur said, "That's impossible. All the dragons are dead. My father hunted down and killed them all, except the last one which he imprisoned beneath Camelot castle. I killed that one after it escaped."

Borlyn just shrugged and didn't answer.

Arthur stood up and walked over to the fire. He turned toward it and thought for a moment. He felt disoriented, like a bunch of pieces to a puzzle were about to fall in place, but only if he could put it together. Then it occurred to him. He turned back to Borlyn.

"Have you ever seen a live dragon before?"

"No sire."

"Then what made you think that the beast was a dragon?"

Borlyn looked utterly confused, "I wasn't sure, until I met…" he stumbled for a few moments with words and then he said, "Lord Merlin sire. Once I found him, I was convinced that it must have been a dragon."

"Why?"

If possible Borlyn looked even more bewildered.

"I thought you knew him, sire," Borlyn said.

"Yes. I do. He has attended me as my personal servant for the last four years." Arthur said. "I know him very well."

"Then you know he's a Dragon Lord, sire. With the injuries and the fires I thought it would have been obvious that a dragon was responsible for the damage."

"What?" Arthur roared. He stalked toward Borlyn

Borlyn flinched and started heading toward the door. Arthur was going close in, but Lancelot was suddenly in front of him, barring his way.

"My lord," Lancelot said. "Calm down."

"Calm down," Arthur yelled, his anger now directed at Lancelot. "He just accused Merlin of being a sorcerer."

Lancelot stood his ground and said very slowly, "No, he didn't. He just accused Merlin of being a Dragon Lord. And I for one would like to know why."

Arthur felt the logic in the words, and begrudgingly agreed.

"Answer the question," Arthur barked at the man. "Why do you think Merlin is a Dragon Lord?"

Borlyn looked timid, like a mouse cowering in front of a cat. But he slowly walked over to Merlin and pointed to him.

"What?" Arthur said.

Borlyn said quietly, "The jewelry my liege. I am a silversmith. Those pieces he wears were made by my father when I was a small boy. The dragon bracelet and the matching ring were made for a Dragon Lord. I remember my father working on them. I saw the aftermath in the clearing, the fires, the bodies everywhere, and the destruction. Then I saw a large flying creature. Then I found Lord Merlin not two miles down the road, wearing the jewelry of a Dragon Lord. It all fit together, my liege."

It did fit together, too well together for Arthur's comfort. Part of Arthur felt the truth in the words of the smith, but another part of him fought against it. Arthur turned away from both of them. He found a chair and sat down beside Merlin. He stared at Merlin's pale face. He looked at Merlin's burnt and broken hand. He looked at the jewelry on his left hand.

Arthur heard Lancelot and Borlyn talking, but he didn't pay attention. He felt like everything in his world had been suddenly flipped over, but instead of being disoriented from the experience, he felt like everything became clear, like water that sprung out of a mountain.

Things that he hadn't realized were off suddenly made sense with such painful clarity he couldn't understand why he hadn't seen it before. Things that happened, coincidences that made no sense, the guardian angel he felt was helping him…

Arthur shook himself out of those thoughts. Merlin a Dragon Lord? Maybe it was possible, but not probable. The creature Borlyn saw could have been anything from a wyermin, to a large vulture. The Saxons were brutal, even to each other. It wasn't out of the question that the company turned on itself. As for the fires, they could have been started by anyone, a group of locals who snuck in to the camp, a lightning strike, a cooking fire unattended. Even if Merlin was a displaced nobleman, he wasn't a warrior. He wouldn't hurt anyone.

That said, Borlyn's story raised enough doubts that if his father heard it - and was in his right mind - he wouldn't hesitate to burn Merlin at the stake. Arthur looked up to see Borlyn and Arthur had stopped talking. They were both looking at him with concern.

"My Lord?" Lancelot asked him.

Arthur address Borlyn, "Have you told anyone else about your suspicions about my servant?"

"No, my lord," Borlyn said.

"Good. Being a Dragon Lord is akin to sorcery in Camelot and would condemn him to a quick and painful death. I don't think any of us in this room wants that to happen."

Both Lancelot and Borlyn shook their heads no.

"Despite what you say and what you saw, I have trouble believing that Merlin is a Dragon Lord. Dragon Lords had power beyond that of a king. Why would such a man have worked for me as servant? He could have leveled the castle in a trice, killed me and my father, and ruled Camelot in my steed. He told me that the ring and bracelet belonged to his father's. Perhaps his father had been a Dragon Lord, or for all we know, stole it from a Dragon Lord. I believe there must be another explanation, one that makes more sense with the person that we know as Merlin."

Lancelot agreed readily, his head nodded vigorously. Borlyn gave him a skeptical look.

Borlyn said, "I think my explanation of the events is more likely, sire."

"Your explanation of the events would get him executed. I assume you don't want that."

Borlyn looked at the young man on the pallet. "No, sire. I don't."

"Then we're in agreement. We will not speak of this matter, lest it end badly for Merlin. Lancelot I have your word as a knight of Camelot."

"Of course my lord."

"You are a silversmith, you say?" Arthur asked Borlyn. "I have need of a very special ring, and perhaps several more pieces of jewelry. Would you be willing to stay for a time at Camelot?"

"Aye, my lord, it would be an honor to serve you."

"I will provide rooms for you and the service my household. I will require you to make several pieces. I will pay handsomely."

Arthur could see the man break into a big smile.

"And I expect that while you are a guest in my household that any thoughts you have toward a servant of mine will remain in your head and will not spread to any other person."

Borlyn smiled. "Of course, my lord. I would never dream of venturing idle opinions against a friend of my patron."

Arthur nodded to Borlyn and smiled at him. "That gentlemen, is that."


	17. Chapter 17

Chapter 17

Merlin woke up, sort of... His eyes peered through blurry lids. Where was he? Lying down, somewhere familiar. But where? His right hand throbbed at every beat of his heart; pain, release, pain, release, pain. Then with panic, he realized he couldn't move or feel his left leg.

A moment later, a comforting voice demanded that he truly wake. Merlin fought through the fog and focused his eyes on the person sitting next to him. Gwen. Merlin found himself falling back into the darkness. Even if he had no idea where he was, he was with Gwen, which meant he was safe. He drifted again into painless black sleep.

"Merlin, are you hungry?" Gwen asked, shaking him.

Merlin realized that he felt many things. First, he was blazing hot. Second, his hand throbbed with dull aching pain. He was thirsty, had an uncomfortable crick in his shoulder, and had a horrible pins and needles feeling all through his left leg. He didn't however, feel hungry.

"No," he croaked. His throat was dry.

He opened his eyes to see Gwen smiling above him.

"But you can wake up," she commented with a huge smile.

"Just for you," Merlin said, returning the smile. "Where am I?"

"You're home, in Camelot."

Some of the confused details of where he had been and what he had been doing came back to him an anxiety laden two seconds.

"My mother," Merlin asked feeling something akin to panic. He started to sit up but Gwen put a hand on his shoulder, a gesture of comfort, but one that prevented him from rising.

"She's safe," Gwen said, but there was something in her voice, something that made the hair rise on Merlin's arms.

"Where is she? What's the matter?"

"There is no easy way to say this Merlin," Gwen said looking concerned.

"No," Merlin said, fear welling up inside. His eyes started to water, "The Saxon's?"

"No, no, Merlin… She is safe. Your family made it here in safety. It's just that since then both she and Gaius have taken ill. They're on the other side of the room."

Merlin turned his head and he could just spy the cots on the far side of Gaius's chambers filled with people. One of them for sure was Gaius. The other could have been his mother. Merlin felt the panic recede, and then spike again.

"What wrong with them?"

"I don't know," Gwen admitted, looking sad. "They both had fevers. When the fevers broke, they just slept on and on and on. They won't wake up."

"Magic?" Merlin asked, closing his eyes as his body pulsed with crazy heat.

Gwen's hand moved from his shoulder to his forehead.

"I don't know, but you have it too."

"I'm sick?" Merlin asked, feeling the black sleep close in like the red velvet curtains in Arthur's bedroom.

Gwen said something else, but Merlin was too far gone to understand.

The next time Merlin woke, his head ached like an arrow had run through his left eye and exited at the back of his skull. The headache might have been the consequence of his alertness or the cause, but in either case his head was clear for the first time since he left the clearing.

He pushed himself into a sitting position using his left hand. His right hand was bandaged from his fingertips all the way to his mid forearm. He gently bent his right wrist. A sharp grinding pain hit him and caused his eyes to fill with stars. Broken then. He focused on each part of his body. He had a horrible pins and needles feeling in his left leg. He adjusted it on the bed, causing it to flare up into real pain. Merlin winced and then took several slow deep breaths, like he had read in some books.

It worked; the pain slowly receded into something like background noise. It was still there, but it didn't overpower his entire mind and body.

He looked around the room and saw his mother and Gaius lying in cots on the other side of the room. There were a few other people he knew from sight, but not their names. One was an apothecary that Gaius occasionally visited to buy pots and salves. The others were women, one was a mid-wife. She had come to get Gaius once or twice when a birth went badly.

He could feel the magic inside of him fighting against… something. It burned against his chest and head, making his whole body ache like he had the pox. Staring at Gaius's white head and pale face, he realized that Gaius looked exactly like the people he saw at Byron's castle. He was unmarked, unharmed, and in a coma.

Merlin tried to move his leg again. The tingling hit again, just not as hard. Like a thunderclap, realization struck him, resonating against his fever. Magic. Magic, a spell woven out the very air, attacked him as he lay here. It attacked Gaius and his mother. They succumbed to the spell. His magic hadn't stopped fighting, at least not yet.

Glancing around, he saw a cup on a table at the foot of his bed. Stretching out with his magic, Merlin picked up the cup. His head exploded in agony. The he shut his eyes against brightness, his stomach churned and he slumped over. Merlin fought to even breathe through the pain. He wanted to die, anything was better than this unending pain.

Then suddenly, ice spread through his chest and down to his left leg. The pins and needles feeling there retreated. Merlin's leg felt dead. Merlin poked at his leg with his good hand. He felt nothing, absolutely nothing. His leg was paralyzed.

His magic fought against the spell, but it couldn't win. Before long he would fall asleep and not wake up again. With that pleasant thought, he realized he couldn't keep his eyes open anymore. Reluctantly, he allowed the waves of Avalon whisk him away into dreamless sleep.

The next time Merlin woke up, his head was just as clear and his leg just as dead. He managed to sit up again, despite not being to move his leg. He used his left hand to push himself up. The creepy pins and needles feeling pricked in the fingers of that hand.

Gwen was sitting on the other side of the room. She stood up and made a bee line to him, with a huge smile covering her face.

"You look better," she said sitting down next to him. "How are you feeling?"

"Not bad," Merlin said shrugging.

Gwen gave him an incredulous look, "You really expect me to believe that. You've been asleep for over a week."

Merlin's stomach dropped, "It's been a week?"

Gwen nodded, "It has. So how do you feel?"

"I felt better before I knew that I was slept for a week," Merlin said with a smile creeping over his face.

Gwen gave a little laugh. "Does your hand hurt?"

"It aches, but it's not too bad."

Gwen's hand shot to his forehead. "You still have your fever. Do you think your hand is infected?"

"No, my wrist is broken." Merlin said. "The fever is something else entirely."

"What?"

A pillow whizzed out of nowhere and hit Merlin in the face with a soft whumping sound. Merlin fell back to the bed. Gwen giggled and turned to Arthur who came walking over.

Merlin pushed the pillow off his face using his bandaged right hand. It hurt less than his tingling left one.

"What was that for?" Merlin asked, irritated as the pillowed landed on the floor next to him with a plopping sound.

"I ordered you not to go into combat," Arthur said, looking somewhere between irritated and concerned. "Holding off an army of two hundred on your own is definitely not what I meant."

"When have I ever listened to you?" Merlin asked with a smile.

"I'm serious Merlin, you very nearly died. If that silversmith hadn't found you when he did, you would be dead."

"What? Do I detect actual concern?"

Arthur sputtered for a second before saying, "No, but you forced me to hire a silversmith."

"How I'd do that?"

Arthur looked at Merlin in a way he never had done before. It seemed like Arthur's gaze traveled through him. Merlin felt uncomfortable, like Arthur saw more than he wanted to. Merlin felt anxiety work through his body again. He couldn't remember anything clearly since Malcolm had ridden away with his mother. What had happened? What did Arthur know?

But instead of the question that Merlin half dreaded, half welcomed to come, Arthur asked instead, "How are you feeling?"

"I've been better," Merlin said with a small smile.

"Merlin," Gwen chided gently. "Tell us."

Merlin sighed before saying, "The sickness is moving through my body Gwen. I can't move my left leg anymore. It's paralyzing me, like it did to Gaius and to my mother and all those people back in Byron's kingdom. Before long, I'll be in a coma, just like all of them."

"But why?" Gwen said an edge of desperation in her voice. "What is the cause of this sickness?"

"Magic," Merlin said.

"How could you know that?" Arthur asked, sharply, defensively, his face contorted in sudden anger.

Merlin looked over at him confused. Arthur gave the same knee jerk reaction his father did whenever magic was mentioned.

"Nothing else makes sense. Magic is the only answer left. This isn't a natural sickness or it would have spread to more people."

Arthur seemed to digest that, the anger lines smoothed off his face. Gwen studied him concerned. Something was going on.

"What is the purpose of this magical attack?" Arthur said.

"To weaken Camelot," Merlin said quietly.

"This sickness has only affected ten people in Camelot," Arthur said, his face contorting again, this time in annoyance. "If it doesn't spread, how could it affect enough people to weaken the kingdom."

"It's not the number of people it's affecting Arthur, it's who's being affected," Merlin said, feeling suddenly tired.

"And who pray tell is it affecting that is so bloody important to Camelot. You?"

Merlin said quietly, "The healers Arthur. It's affected all the healers."

Gwen covered her mouth in shock. "Merlin is right, Arthur. All the people affected are healers of one sort or another."

Arthur muttered, "The woman who cared for Merlin at the tavern was a healer and her husband said she was ill as well."

Merlin said looking over at him again, "The people at Byron's castle, the ones who wouldn't wake and nothing seemed to be wrong with them; this is what happened to them."

"How do you know?" Arthur demanded, angry again.

"They were unmarked, no sign of infection, no sign of illness, nothing that would explain their symptoms. By the time we saw them the fever had broken and left them in a coma. Just like Gaius, and my mother. The Saxons have laid a magical spell over all of Albion."

"If that were true then everyone would have been affected at the same time."

"We were." Merlin said.

"But those people at Byron's were already in a coma weeks ago."

"Both and Gaius and I have been sick for nearly that long," Merlin said, sighing.

"You haven't been sick for that long."

"Both Gaius and I fell ill even before we left for Byron's."

"You weren't sick. I would have noticed," Arthur said angrily.

"You didn't," Merlin said like he was simply agreeing, though he was disagreeing. "The fever started the night we wrote up that letter for your father to sign. Gaius had fallen ill earlier that same day."

"Why didn't you say anything?" Arthur asked.

"You wouldn't have understood," Merlin said looking over to Gwen imploringly with his eyes.

Merlin knew that Gwen understood. Servants didn't trouble their masters with their own needs. Even though he was cheeky and insolent half the time, he couldn't have told Arthur that he was feeling ill. In such cases, servants switched roles. They found someone else to do their duties instead. If he were too sick to work, another servant would be sent in his stead. Anyone would have done it for him, but the request always ended up with the servant owing another servant a favor. Merlin, in his position with the prince and his training with Gaius, could not practically return the favor. Merlin simply had to go to work. He had no other practical choice.

"I wouldn't have understood?" Arthur shouted, contempt and anger marring his face, "Who do you think I am?"

"Arthur," Gwen said touching his arm.

"No," Arthur said shrugging it off. "I want to know why Merlin would think that I wouldn't understand that he was ill. He's acting like I'm some sort of monster."

Merlin stared at him for a long moment before he said quietly, "You aren't a monster, but you are the son of Uther Pendragon."

"What is that supposed to mean, Merlin?"

What did it mean? Merlin mused to himself. It meant that Arthur couldn't understand the life of servant. It meant that Arthur couldn't understand about Merlin's magic. It meant that no matter where they went or how much Merlin cared, he would always be separated from Arthur. But firstly, it meant he needed to change the subject.

"It doesn't mean anything Arthur, I'm sorry. Gwen, would you ask my uncle, Lord Byron to come by. I would like to talk to him."

"Merlin," Arthur yelled.

Merlin ignored him, "Please, Gwen. It's important. There are some things I need to discuss with him before..." Merlin couldn't quite bring himself to admit that he was falling into a coma.

"Speaking of things we need to talk about," Arthur said, even louder than before. "What exactly happened in that clearing with the Saxons? How did that camp burn to the ground? What happened that caused a man's arm to get ripped off?"

Merlin couldn't even look at him, he said softly, "Arthur, I'm sorry. I shouldn't have stayed. I shouldn't have compared you to your father. Gwen, please? Would you ask my uncle to come talk to me?"

Merlin knew he was putting Gwen in a horrible spot, smack between the man she loved and one of her best friends. But she nodded to Merlin all the same.

"Thank you," Merlin said, he shifted trying to make himself more comfortable. All he managed to do was make his leg ache when he tried to move it. That was better than no feeling at all, he supposed.

"Merlin," Arthur yelled his face turning a horrible tomato red, "What happened back there? Tell me!"

Merlin didn't answer, he couldn't answer. He was so tired, he could barely keep his eyes open much less come up with another story to explain away his magic to Arthur. He let his eyes fall shut and then took several deep and even breaths.

"I'm warning you Merlin," Arthur said. "I know you can hear me. I know you know what happened."

Merlin still didn't answer. But he was trying to figure something out, something that would explain the fire and a man's arm lying on the ground. What would have done other than magic?

"You are withholding information from not just your master, but also from your prince. I demand that you answer."

"Arthur," Gwen said, "Please."

"Merlin," Arthur growled. "I'm warning you."

Merlin kept his eyes closed; his breathing grew slower and more even. No thoughts were coming, no appropriate justification. Maybe if he pretended to be asleep…

In one fluid motion, Arthur flipped Merlin's bed over, sending Merlin sprawling on the floor, the bed on top of him. Merlin landed on his face with a muffled cry of pain.

All of him hurt, from his toes to the tiny pores on top of his head.

"Arthur!" Gwen scolded.

She rushed over to Merlin side and pulled the bed off from on top of him. Merlin pushed himself up on his broken hand, nearly screaming in pain in the process of it. Then he pulled himself unsteadily to his feet. Gwen jumped up beside him and put a steadying arm around his waist. Merlin leaned heavily on her. His numb leg just barely held his weight.

"Tell me," Arthur demanded, his blue eyes cold. "What happened?"

Merlin looked at him in desperation... what to say, what to say?

"So now you're not talking?" Arthur raged. "What are you hiding?"

Merlin's arms and legs started trembling.

"Gwen, come away from him."

"Arthur," Gwen said half crying, but not leaving Merlin's side. "Please, he can barely stand."

"I'm going to ask you one more time, Merlin," Arthur said, his voice deadly calm, and icy. "What happened in that clearing? Tell me."

Merlin looked at him, "I'm sorry, Arthur. I just don't want to go through it. It was too horrible to talk about."

"Then you leave me no choice," Arthur said coolly. "You're under arrest for sorcery."

As often as Merlin had expected to hear those words, actually hearing them for the right reasons came as a shock. His tremors grew more violent.

"Why?" Merlin asked.

"There was a witness on the scene, the man who found you and saved your life. He reported that he saw a dragon leaving the area. The damage and injuries were consistent with a dragon attack. He told us that your jewelry belonged to a Dragon Lord. At first, I dismissed his testimony. It was hard to believe that a man who worked for me as a servant could command a dragon. But I can't ignore the facts Merlin. You held the Saxons off long enough for your family to escape. Afterward, you escaped that carnage with nothing more than a burnt hand and a broken wrist. You, who can barely hold a sword up, singlehandedly, routed an entire encampment of soldiers. Unless you tell me what circumstances led to that outcome, I have no choice but to arrest you on charges of sorcery."

Checkmate.

"You and I have escaped from worse scrapes than this. You never asked questions then."

"I knew what happened those times," Arthur said reasonably. "I knew what actions I took to get us out alive. Those times made sense, this doesn't."

The other times didn't make either and Merlin knew it. The key difference was that now, Arthur saw the situation from the outside, instead of living it. In his arrogance he truly believed that he himself had made the other miraculous victories possible.

"Those didn't either Arthur," Merlin said, quietly.

Arthur stared at him with sad eyes. "I know."

They stared at each other for a long moment. Merlin still couldn't come up with an answer that would satisfy Arthur and not get him burnt at the stake.

"What happened, Merlin?" Arthur asked, his voice cold and dangerous. "I need to know. How was that army destroyed?"

Merlin cocked his head to one side, studying Arthur's face. He was quiet for a long time. The dragon had said that now was the time. Maybe he was right. The annoying creature usually was right, despite how much Merlin would have given to make things different. He shifted his position and leaned even more heavily on Gwen. Then he looked at Gwen, over at Gaius and his mother, and then back to Arthur.

Finally he said quietly, "I suppose you do deserve the truth." He looked back over to his mother and guardian. He sighed, "It doesn't really matter anymore, anyway."

"What do you mean?" Gwen asked, her voice fearful.

Merlin smiled sadly, "The witness was right. I am a Dragon Lord. I ordered a dragon to attack the enemy camp to give my mother, and the rest of my family time to get away safely. Then I started the camp on fire. I used magic to save my family Arthur. I couldn't let them die. I would rather die myself than see them come to harm."

"You used magic," Arthur said his tomato red face draining of color. He put a hand over his eyes and rubbed at his forehead.

"Yes, sire. I did."

Arthur's looked back at Merlin and his eyes filled with deep hurt. "I trusted you," Arthur yelled. "I trusted you with… Everything… And yet you practice sorcery right under my very nose. You throw this in my face."

"I didn't throw this in your face. You were the one who flipped over my bed demanding answers, answers that I couldn't give you. You could have just left it alone, like you always did before."

"I have to arrest you Merlin. Don't you understand, I can't let this go. I can't let you off just because you were my servant. Sorcery is illegal. Those who practice it are evil."

"I'm not evil, Arthur. People who use magic for power are evil. People who use magic to control others are evil. Magic itself isn't evil. I have used it to save your sorry, ungrateful backside more than I can count. You would have been dead a hundred times over had I not used magic to save you."

Arthur looked momentarily stunned and Merlin found strength in his anger.

"Why do you think I go everywhere with you? Your father's policy against magic has upset so many people that you are wearing a magical target on your back. Any time you stray outside of the castle and an awful lot of times inside of it, people try to kill you with magic."

"But," Arthur managed to stammer… "When? When have you saved my life with magic?"

"It's happened so many times that I've lost count."

"Name one," Arthur said.

"Cendred's immortal army, with the blood in the cup of life, Lancelot and I knocked the blood out of the cup, which destroyed every immortal soldier in Camelot."

"You used magic?" Arthur asked.

"How else would we have defeated Morgause or Morgana? Really Arthur what did you think happened? There were three of us, a servant, an old man, and one knight against 20 immortal soldiers and two witches?"

"I never…" Arthur dropped off looking dazed.

"The reason I followed you on your quest to the Perilous Lands… Morgana gave you a bracelet enchanted to suck the life force out of you. I came after you once I realized what it was. If you had left it on, it would have killed you."

Arthur looked struck dumb.

Merlin continued, "I am not evil. I have chosen to use my powers to protect Camelot and its future king because I believed in you."

"Don't you still," Gwen said, softly, her voice quivering, like she was near tears.

"If Arthur ever gets the chance, he will be a good king. If the prophesies are true, he'll be a king of legend whose name will heralded until the end of time."

Arthur looked surprised, stunned even. The anger was momentarily driven from his face.

Merlin brought up his bandaged hand to his forehead, and rubbed it, wincing. The trembling grew worse. Black spots danced merrily in his vision. His anger had given him strength beyond his means, but he couldn't keep going. His face was drenched with sweat and he could feel the fever burn ever hotter underneath his skin.

Merlin addressed Gwen, "The problem is Gwen, that the man standing here in this room right now is not a king of legend. The man standing in this room is an arrogant child. If he weren't so arrogant and self-centered, he would have seen me for who I really was years ago. And that is the real problem."

Arthur's face turned so red, he looked like an apple. Gwen tried to calm the situation down. "Arthur will be a good king. He has a good heart and he is a strong warrior. The men follow him, he inspires hope and loyalty in everyone he meets. You know that Merlin."

"That's all true, but it won't matter. Arthur's sword cannot defeat a magical enemy. He will not be able to hold Camelot against the Saxons. They have sorcerers." Merlin held up his bandaged hand. "That's how I was injured. It was all I could do to just hold them at bay. Without help, Arthur and his best soldiers will be frozen in place by the sorcerers and then cut to ribbons. The battle will last less than ten minutes."

Merlin's leg began to wobble, the spots in his vision grew blacker.

"Merlin, you need to sit down," Gwen said gently. "You're not well. Please, sit down."

"No, Gwen," Merlin said. "If Arthur is going to sentence me to death, I want to look him in the eyes when he does it."

Arthur didn't hesitate, "Merlin, I find you guilty of practicing sorcery. The punishment for this crime is death."

"So you'll kill me," Merlin said. "Even after everything that we've been through together, after everything I've done for you. You want me dead just because I have magic."

Arthur went on like he hadn't heard anything that Merlin said, but he locked him into a death stare. And his eyes didn't say I hate you, his eyes said pay attention. "Since it seems likely that your death is eminent anyway, I will suspend sentencing until either you recover from your illness or you succumb to it. People are nervous enough. The last thing we need is a public execution. Since you are hardly a flight risk, you can stay here for the remainder of your illness."

Merlin nodded and bowed his head in acceptance.

"Arthur, you can't do this," Gwen cried.

Merlin right leg buckled and he crumpled to the side. Before he toppled, to Merlin's surprise, Arthur grabbed him. Arthur hefted Merlin onto his shoulder, to which Merlin nearly screamed in pain, and then walked across the room to Gaius's bed. He gently lowered him onto the cot and then threw a blanket over him.

"Take care of him," Arthur told Gwen. Arthur gave Merlin a look that was half grieved, half angry. Then he swept from the room, his red cloak billowing behind him.


	18. Chapter 18

Chapter 18

Oppressive darkness filled his bedroom. The only light in the room came from the fire in the grate. Arthur stared at it, transfixed, wishing he were somebody, anybody, else.

His father warned him not to get close to anyone. His father told him that people would use him for their own ends. His father told him to be detached; a king had to rule with his mind and not his heart. Quite frankly Arthur thought that advice was a bunch of crap. Arthur believed that the best leaders led with their hearts, using logic as a tool. Until today. Today, he condemned his former servant and constant companion to death. It hurt like hell.

Somehow this situation with Merlin felt worse than Morgana's betrayal. Morgana betrayed them actively. She overthrow his… their… father, and took the throne by force with an enchanted army. Merlin had done nothing to betray him. Merlin defended him, saved his life many times, more than he had even realized. Merlin stood by him when everyone else had fled. Morgana committed treason in every sense of the word. Life itself committed treason against Merlin. By law, both had to die.

The only bright spot of the whole day had been the ring that Arthur designed for Guinevere with the help of the court's new silversmith. The hiring of which, in retrospect, was very stupid. It hadn't protected Merlin in the slightest. When it came right down to it, the only person Merlin needed protection from was him. Once the seed of truth had been laid, it grew rapidly, like an out of control grass fire. Arthur couldn't help but see the truth hidden in the hapless lies.

The fire shifted and popped with a hiss and several sparks shot off. The room grew marginally darker. When Arthur had asked Merlin the questions in Gaius's room, he wanted Merlin to deny it, to tell him about a freak lightning storm and a rampaging herd of wild boars. Anytime there had been something like that, Arthur never pushed Merlin too hard for information, but Merlin had always come up with a story. A stupid one, admittedly, but it was a story nonetheless. Arthur knew he wasn't always getting the whole story, or even a likely story, but since by and large everything miraculously worked out, he didn't worry about the details. Merlin could be an idiot, he could be useless, but he was convinced of his loyalty.

Now though, once the seed of doubt had been sown, Arthur couldn't help but see through Merlin's façade. He had already waited a week to talk to Merlin about the incident in the clearing. He never should have pushed it. Merlin looked awful, two breaths from death. He could hardly stand. Maybe if Merlin had felt better, he would have been able to figure out a story to maintain the status quo.

But was that really what he wanted? Did he want Merlin to lie to him? In theory, no. He didn't want Merlin to lie. But in practice though, Merlin couldn't admit to being a sorcerer, all that would do is ensure a painful death. Merlin had to lie to live in peace, so yes, a part of Arthur wished that Merlin would have continued to lie.

Now that he was alone with his thoughts, he realized how stupid this was. Arthur put Merlin into a position where he had to admit that he was a sorcerer. He had no way out. He claimed he never used his power for evil purposes. Despite everything that Arthur had been through with magic, Arthur believed him. Perhaps it was faith. Perhaps it was because Merlin had never tried to use him for anything. Perhaps it was because Merlin could have killed him or hurt him a thousand times over and he hadn't. Perhaps it was because Merlin was born a sorcerer just like had been born a prince.

And yet, it wasn't so stupid. Sorcery was illegal for a reason. Sorcerers had incredible amounts of power and they were a threat to the kingdom, but that wouldn't matter for much longer either. Merlin was right about one thing, he couldn't defeat the Saxon army.

The door knocked.

"Come in," Arthur said.

Gwen walked in the room and quickly shut the door behind her. Arthur stood to meet her. She was the only person that he would have been happy to see in his current mood. He crossed over to her and opened his arms in greeting. Gwen rushed into them and started sobbing uncontrollably.

"I can't believe he's a sorcerer," Gwen said between hiccups. "Why would he study magic?"

Arthur smiled grimly over her head, "He didn't. I talked to Lord Byron after I left you. Merlin is the son of Balinor, the dragon lord who Merlin and I went to find when the dragon escaped. Merlin was born with magic. Hunith hid him away in a small village to keep him safe."

"I don't understand," Gwen said. "I though a person had to study to use magic."

"Apparently not Merlin. It's as natural to him as breathing. According to Lord Byron, Hunith sent Merlin to Gaius to help him figure out how to control his magic. She didn't want him found out."

"He lived in Cendred's kingdom, there wasn't a law about magic there."

"Magic users in Cendred's kingdom disappeared in the night, never to be heard from again. The running theory was either that they were captured and killed by raids from Camelot or they were kidnapped by Cendred for his own ends."

"Which was it?"

"There is no way to know. I would like to say that my father didn't send people into Cendred's kingdom to destroy magic users, but I can't be sure."

"If he recovers, are you going to have him executed?" Gwen asked, pulling away from him, her brown eyes searching his blue ones, with a faint glimmer of hope.

Arthur shrugged. "He's not going to recover. He's weaker now than when we found him."

"But still if he does?"

Arthur pulled her close again and kissed her forehead. "Gwen, Camelot will not survive the coming storm. Merlin will either die of this sickness or in the upcoming battle. Or the Saxon's will kill me and my father and then Camelot will cease to exist. Then sorcery won't be illegal anymore. It doesn't matter Gwen. We cannot defend ourselves against the Saxons. Merlin will not die by my hand. He'll either succumb to his illness or I'll die instead."

"What?" Gwen said, looking horrified.

"The Saxon army overran Mercia. It wasn't even a fight according to the people Leon talked too. They crushed the walls of the city with huge rams on wheels. The Mercian forces, 5000 strong, were overrun by the Saxons in the field. I thought we might have had half a chance against their army. We might only have a couple thousand men, but our army is more disciplined and smarter than the Mercian forces ever were. But if Merlin is right and they have sorcerers on the battlefield, we might as well give up now. It would explain why the Mercian forces were eradicated and the Saxon lost barely a hundred…."

Arthur broke off and stared at the woman in his arms. In a different place, a different time they could have had a happy life. They could have had a chance.

"You know… You and I could run off together with your brother… maybe we could find an old forge, Elyan could teach me to be a blacksmith."

"You can't mean that," Gwen said, cupping his face in her hand.

"I won't abandon my people, but I want it more than anything."

* * *

><p>Merlin awoke to a shake of his arm. He opened his eyes to see his uncle, Lord Byron, standing over him. Standing next to his uncle was his cousin Malcolm. Malcolm helped Merlin sit up.<p>

Merlin's left arm was now paralyzed and his right hand still throbbed. He felt hollow, empty. He could feel the fever burn on the magic inside of him and it left a hole inside. He could feel the attack on his body, where the spell hit him. But he also saw living proof that other sorcerers were immune to it. If he had some help, he might be able to find something, a potion or incantation that would buy him some time.

With time, he could protect Camelot in his way, giving Arthur a fighting chance on the battlefield. When Arthur sentenced him to death, without carrying the sentence out immediately or even confining him to the dungeons, Merlin understood a few things. Things that Arthur couldn't say… couldn't even admit to himself probably.

The first was that Arthur thought Merlin was going to die from the illness. That was probably true. Arthur didn't want a public execution when the kingdom was in such danger. It would damage morale for everyone. But the person who wanted to see it the least was Arthur. The dragon had always said that the half cannot truly hate the other which it makes whole. Arthur didn't want him to die any more that he wanted Arthur to die. But Arthur, being Arthur couldn't admit to himself.

The second thing Merlin understood was that he wasn't going to be imprisoned. By leaving him in Gaius's chambers, Arthur gave Merlin permission, indirectly, to try and find a solution to his magical problem. Arthur probably figured that since Merlin was dying, he might as well be comfortable. Merlin saw it as the best place possible to find an answer.

Arthur was angry of course, that was to be expected. Merlin had been lying to him for literally years. But there was something else in his eyes when he issued the sentence. It was defeat. Merlin had been with Arthur for a very long, even when Arthur had been in impossible situations before, he had never been defeated. Never.

"Thank you for coming," Merlin told his uncle and cousin.

Byron nodded and looked concerned. Malcolm looked guilty.

"Malcolm, I want to thank you for getting my mother to safety. I'll never be able to thank you enough."

"I should never have left you."

"There was nothing that you could do," Merlin held up his hand. "A broken hand and a few burns were the worst that they could do. Had you been there, I would have had to worry about you as well"

"Then what is wrong with you?" Malcolm asked. "They said you were dying."

"The Saxons cast a spell over all of Albion. It has makes everyone with magic sick. It's what's causing everyone to fall into comas."

"Why haven't you succumbed?" Byron asked.

Merlin felt a bit uncomfortable, but he said, "I have a lot of magic, more than most, and I think the potions your physician gave me helped fight it off, at least at the beginning."

Byron nodded and then said, "You wanted to talk to me, I understand."

"Yes, my lord," Merlin said. "I assume that you heard Arthur has condemned me to death for sorcery."

"Yes," Byron said, quietly.

"You also heard that he delayed my execution."

"Yes," Byron said. "It is more than delayed. It's a moratorium, indefinitely postponed. I agreed with him that it was hardly the time to deal with such an issue, especially with you so ill."

Merlin chose his next words carefully, "He also left him here in my chambers, rather than imprisoning me in the dungeons."

"Yes," Byron said in a monotone, but his eyes were sparkling as if he understood.

"I have no guard, other than Gwen, or whoever is here tending to the sick and wounded?"

"No, you don't," Byron agreed, now with a small smile.

"Correct me if I'm wrong, but the situation with the Saxons is bad, worse than anything we've faced before."

Byron face sobered instantly, "I have no way to judge what you have faced in your lifetime, nephew, but it is as bad of a situation as I have ever seen. These people are here to stay. They are eradicating all of us in Albion to settle. They are entrenched and willing to fight to the last man."

Merlin thought about it for a moment. "That is bad, worse than I thought actually."

Malcolm chimed in, "We have no hope in defeating them in open warfare either. We are outnumbered four to one and they have sorcerers fighting on their side. They overran Mercia in one day."

Merlin looked at both of them for a moment. Something settled in his stomach. It was icy, and it solidified hard against his burning fever. An idea formed in his head, stupid, reckless, and idiotic. But it would give his kingdom a fighting chance. He had to try.

"I know what I need to do."

Byron lifted his eyebrow up, "You have a plan that will neutralize this Saxon invasion."

"Not a plan. More like a hunch and an idea rolled into one."

"You need to explain." Byron said stoically.

"I have known Arthur for a lot of years. He is a man of action. He would prefer to meet an army in open combat, even if his chances of survival were slim, than sit out a long siege. He didn't take action against me. I think he is hoping, maybe subconsciously, that I'll figure out a way to give him a fighting chance."

"Can you do that?" Malcolm asked. "Can you give us a fighting chance in the field?"

"Maybe. If I can lift this enchantment or figure out what their sorcerers are using to combat it, then I should be able to neutralize their magic so that the knights would have a fair fight."

"We're still outnumbered 4 to 1," Byron pointed out. "Even if you take magic out of it, it's not a fair fight."

"It might not be fair, but it still might be winnable. Arthur can be an arrogant clot pole most of the time, but he is good general. There is no one better."

Byron seemed to digest that. He nodded thoughtfully and then said, "I assume you need some help to accomplish your part."

Merlin nodded.

"Father," Malcolm said. "Allow me. The prince has started to rely on your judgment. He would notice your absence. I am nothing but your third son, neither an heir nor next in the line. No one would notice me missing."

Byron nodded his agreement. "Your judgment is wise my son. But please never dismiss your importance to me. You are as dear to me as either of your older brothers. But it is true. Your mother and I would be the only people who would notice your absence, and it wouldn't be out of line for me to send you with your troupe back to our estate anyway. We could use that as your cover story. Your men have proved exceptionally loyal to Merlin. The only trick would be getting Merlin out without anyone suspecting."

"First Merlin must recover his health," Malcolm pointed out. "But then it's a simple matter. I will ride out with most of the troupe one day. We will ride about halfway home and we will stop and find some place to make camp. Then the rest of the troupe will smuggle Merlin out the next day, and we'll ride back and join up. We might be able to delay someone finding out about Merlin's absence for a day. Perhaps move him in the day to his bedroom. We could set up a dummy of sorts in his bed. I'll have been gone for 2 days, already home presumably, and it will look like Merlin went off alone."

Byron nodded, "I see why your brothers complained about you in your youth. It's a good plan."

"Now Merlin needs to recover," Malcolm said.

"I have an idea," Merlin said.


	19. Chapter 19

Chapter 19

The autumn chill descended into a dreary winter. No snow lightened the mood. The gloom of the short days made even Gwen's cheery disposition falter. She spent much of her time in the physician's chambers forcing broth, wine, and water down the throats of Gaius, Hunith, and the other victims of the magical attack.

Most days, she ate lunch with her brother. Elyan relayed the gossip through the knight's realm. Mostly it was tidings of woe; patrols that went missing, exaggerations of the Saxon's brilliance on the battlefield. It annoyed Gwen, things were bad enough without the knights making stuff up.

Merlin's cousin, the Lady Isrith, lately had been helping in the sick room. Occasionally her mother, the Lady Jennil would help as well. To be fair, the Lady Jennil didn't do much more than stroke Hunith's hand and whisper kind words to Gaius, but they both seemed to cheer up Merlin.

Merlin was steadily failing, both of them knew it. Merlin put on brave face for Gwen. He tried not to complain, but Gwen could tell that he was in pain and had accepted that his death, or at least his long term coma, was near. He would be silent for long periods of time, studying the walls of the room. Eventually he asked if he could go back into his own bedroom. It didn't matter much to Gwen whether Merlin was in the main room or the room next door. With his cousin's Malcolm's help, Merlin managed to stagger up the steps.

Isrith was the only bright spot amongst the gloom. Isrith was the oldest daughter and yet fourth born to Lord Byron. She had been trapped in Camelot since Merlin had saved her life, with the dragon. Gwen found that she couldn't talk to Merlin about the fact he was a sorcerer. She couldn't bring it up, even though she wanted to.

Arthur seemed to trust that Merlin wasn't a danger to anyone. He had pointed out that Merlin could have killed him and his father a thousand times over and taken control of the kingdom, or he could have done any number of other evil things that he didn't do. In fact, Arthur couldn't figure out why Merlin hadn't used his magic to overthrow the kingdom. He said that had their position been reversed, Arthur probably would have.

There was something more to Arthur's internal motivation, but Gwen couldn't put her finger on it. She never really understood their relationship even before this. She and Morgana had been genuine friends before Morgana turned evil. Arthur and Merlin weren't friends exactly. In fact, they bickered more than any other people she knew. But especially lately, before Merlin's sudden elevation in status, that they acted more like brothers than anything else.

Since Gwen couldn't face Merlin's treason head on, she tentatively asked Isrith about it one day when Isrith was using a cloth to feed Hunith some broth.

Isrith smiled grimly at the question.

"No," she said softly, "I don't think Merlin truly committed treason. Treason is an act that destabilizes a kingdom. You know him better than I do, but I don't believe he is the type of person that would do that. He doesn't want Camelot to fall."

"No," Gwen agreed. "He wouldn't do anything to hurt Camelot or Arthur. But still he's a sorcerer."

Isrith said with a sigh, "I was named after my grandmother, Guinevere. She was the daughter of a powerful druid chieftain. My mother's family prized magic. After my grandmother died, my grandfather married Gaius's mother, who had a bit of magic herself. Magic didn't used to be a crime. It didn't used to treason. Only Uther Pendragaon though it such."

"So you don't believe magic is evil?" Gwen asked, genuinely surprised.

"No," Isrith said. She dipped the end of her cloth into the bowl of broth and gently squeezed it into her aunt's mouth. "I believe people can be good or they can be evil. If a good person has magic, it's good magic. If a bad person has magic it's evil magic."

"But my mistress, the Lady Morgana, was a good person. But when she dabbled in magic she became evil. She overthrew Camelot, killed many people. Magic made her evil."

Isrith locked Gwen's dark brown eyes into a stare with her dark blue ones. "Was she really a good person Guinevere? Before the magic?"

"Yes, of course."

"Well," Isrith said shrugging, "You knew her far better than I did."

"You did not believe her to be a good person?" Gwen asked.

"Well," Isrith said, fingering the cloth in her hand. "To be honest, I thought she was spoiled. Her father Gorlois used to visit our to our estate when I was a child. They were miserable times. She always wanted her own way. If she didn't get it, she would have a tantrum. I can't count the number of times I was in trouble when she was around."

"She's a noblewoman, they tend to be spoiled."

"So am I," Isrith commented blandly.

"I didn't mean that all noblewomen were spoiled… I mean, not that you would be… I mean, I don't even know you well enough to know…"

Isrith gave her an amused smile, "In any case, you and I can both agree that Morgana was spoiled."

"I suppose," Gwen said, "But it never seemed like it was bad thing."

Isrith looked at her and raised her eyebrows, "She was never taught to care about anyone other than herself. You think that's a good thing?"

"She cared. She tried to help people. She went to Merlin's village to help Arthur fight off a group of men that were terrorizing the village."

"She went? Why?"

"She wanted to help them."

"How?"

"By fighting with the villagers. She's an excellent swordswoman."

Isrith rolled her eyes. "Arrogant and spoiled."

"What?" Gwen asked, confused.

"Even if she is excellent with a sword, her fighting in a battle is risky. Just her being there would divide Arthur's loyalty. If she got in trouble, would Arthur try to help her out, or would he risk the mission? His head would tell him to save the village; his heart would be to save the woman raised as his sister. Even a great woman warrior could hardly hold a shield against a swinging mace or a cudgel."

"But it all turned out fine."

"But don't you see, if Morgana truly wanted to help the village, she wouldn't have gone in the first place. It put the whole operation at risk. And why?"

"Uther didn't want either of them to go. He said he couldn't help a village in Cendred's kingdom."

"He couldn't," Isrith said with a shake of her head. "Cendred could have declared war. Don't you see Gwen? Morgana may have helped people, but she did it in arrogance and pride. She never had someone to love her, truly love her, someone like my mother, or Merlin's mother. She never had a person that cared enough to tell her that she wasn't the center of the world. She never had anyone to help her get past her childish self-absorption."

Gwen felt the truth in Isrith's words. As much as she liked Morgana, Gwen had to admit that Morgana was arrogant and selfish. She was used to getting her own way. Arthur had been like that too. He wasn't that way anymore, or at least he was less so. Gwen chalked it up to then being royalty.

Isrith continued, "So compare her to my cousin Merlin. Merlin grew up with nothing; just a few acres of land, a roof over his head, and shoes on his feet. But his mother loved him deeply and taught him to care about others. She taught him that his magic was a gift not just to himself but to the world. She wanted him to use that power for good. So she sent him to Gaius, who continued to teach him to be compassionate. Both Merlin and Morgana have magic. Which one is more likely to use it for self-serving ends? The one who was indulged and spoiled from birth, or the one who had to work hard just to survive and was taught to care about people?"

Gwen nodded, conceding the point to Merlin.

"Really," Isrith continued, "It would be easy to drop all the blame for everything that is going on right now on our absent king. If he hadn't purged magic from the land, than the Saxon army would be able to be overcome. If he had loved Morgana more, really loved her, like a father should love his daughter, then she wouldn't have caused all the trouble she did."

"That's true," Gwen said, thinking painfully of her own father as his dead body was pulled across the courtyard.

Isrith stood up and walked over to where Gwen stood behind Gaius's potion table. She took Gwen's hand into her own and gave it a gentle squeeze.

"If Ygraine had lived and Uther had listened to her, perhaps things would have turned out better. You are a lovely person Guinevere. As lovely a person as I've met. You will balance Prince Arthur well, so long as you never forget who are."

Isrith gave her a deep curtsey, "There is a feast tonight, hosted by my parents. They are sending my brother Malcolm off in the morning with a troupe of soldiers. He is to join with my other brothers in defending our corner of the world. I believe Prince Arthur is attending. My father asked me to invite you and your brother as our guests. Would you attend?"

Gwen felt stunned. This young woman, the daughter of a Lord no less, bowed to her and asked to attend a formal dinner, as her guest. "I would be honored."

Isrith smiled broadly. "Then, would you join me in the room I share with my mother around four this afternoon? We can help each other dress for the occasion."

"It sounds like fun," Gwen admitted. "It was always fun getting Morgana ready."

Isrith smiled back, "But tonight, it's your turn."

* * *

><p>Arthur found himself in the physician's chambers before he really realized where he was going. He pushed the door open and saw the line of beds that housed the victims of the magical attack. He didn't see Merlin's dark head among them. He remembered Gwen said that Merlin had returned to his bedroom. Arthur headed up the short flight of stairs and pushed the door open.<p>

To his surprise, Merlin was sitting up. He was leaning against the wall. His left arm was in a sling, his right one, which was still bandaged, was resting on a book on the table beside the bed. His skin was pale and glistening with the sweat from the fever. He had lost some weight, there were hallows under his cheeks. When the door opened, Merlin opened his eyes. There were glassy and seemed over bright in the dim light of his room.

"Arthur?" Merlin asked.

"You look like hell," Arthur said.

"Thanks," Merlin said quietly, his eyes briefly shutting again.

"How you feeling?"

Merlin reopened his eyes and looked at him. "I'm okay."

Arthur gave him a skeptical look.

Merlin sighed, "The numbness is spreading. My whole left side is numb."

"Are you in any pain?" Arthur asked. "If you are, I'm sure Gwen would give you something for it. I've made it plain to her that you are to be as comfortable as possible."

"I'm not in pain. I don't want to be drugged; it's hard enough to stay awake as it is."

Arthur nodded. Then it came to it. The real reason he came down to see Merlin. Not for the first time, he wished his mother was still alive. Merlin was one of the few people in Arthur's life who cared about him personally and would listen to him. Despite the fact that during their last conversation Arthur had condemned him to death, Arthur knew Merlin would understand, although how he knew he didn't know. By all rights, the man should be angry. By all rights, Merlin should have killed both him and his father ages ago.

"I wanted to show you something," Arthur said.

He pulled out a small cloth bag that he had in his pocket. He opened it up, brought out the ring, and showed Merlin. One of Merlin's hands flicked like it wanted to hold it, but when nothing happened, apparently he gave up. So instead, Merlin just studied it. Arthur flipped it over so he could see the back.

It was stunning, if Arthur did say so himself. The ring was done in silver and gold, interwoven crosswise, so it looked like a braid around the band. On the top, Arthur had placed a huge ruby that had been in his circlet as a child. The crimson ruby had always adorned the royals of Camelot.

Merlin's face lit up and he gave Arthur the biggest smile he had seen on anyone for a very long time.

"It's beautiful," Merlin said. "She'll love it."

Arthur found himself smiling back.

"When are you going to ask her?" Merlin asked.

"There is a feast tonight. Sir Byron is giving it for his son Malcolm, your cousin. He's heading out at first light in the morning to ride back to Sir Byron's estate."

Merlin nodded, "I thought I heard something about that. Isrith, his sister, has been helping out in here. I think she and Gwen talked about it earlier today. I wish I could get to see the look on Gwen's face. Are you going to kneel down and ask? Or is that custom not becoming a prince?"

"Of course I'm going to kneel down."

"Have you talked to Elyan?" Merlin asked.

"No. Why? I can't imagine he'd object."

"No. He won't object, but don't you suppose he would want to be there, at the feast, when you ask? I'm assuming you asked my uncle to invite Gwen."

"Yeah," Arthur said, then he felt his stomach drop. "Oh yeah, you're right. I'll get someone to track him down."

Merlin gave him a half chuckle, a stupid ass smirk still on his face.

"What?" Arthur said.

"You're actually nervous aren't you?"

"Am not," Arthur snapped back.

"Yes, you are. I can see it on your face. She's not going to shoot you down."

"How do you know that?"

Arthur expected Merlin to say that any woman would be stupid to refuse the proposal of the next king of Camelot. But Merlin didn't say that.

He said, "Because she loves you as much as you love her."

Arthur stared at Merlin. "You think so."

"I know so," Merlin said with a smile. "She's one of my best friends."

Arthur felt better, and he hadn't even realized he had been feeling bad before. He found himself smiling, truly smiling.

"At least she used to be," Merlin added grimly. "She hasn't talked to me really since that day. If you wouldn't mind, would you tell her I'm sorry. I hated lying to you both, but I didn't know what else to do."

"You can tell her yourself," Arthur said simply. Then he stood up and turned to go. "I need to track down Elyan before this feast."

As Arthur was closing the door to Merlin's room, Merlin asked one more question.

"Would you mind asking Lancelot to come visit me tonight?"

"Why?"

Merlin gave him a smile, "With everyone at the feast, it'll be quiet here. Some company would be nice, other than the people in comas."

"If I see him, I'll send him your way," Arthur said with a nod.

* * *

><p>Merlin kept his eyes open long enough to watch Arthur leave. He let them drift shut again. Merlin had figured out an answer to his problem. But time was short. He played it down to Arthur, but he couldn't really feel either of his legs. As soon as he heard the door in the main room shut, he used his magic to float the book open and then scan it open to the page.<p>

It was a combination of an incantation and a potion. Isrith had already made the potion. They talked it over and Merlin helped her find everything it needed. She talked through it three time before she tried it. She delivered it to him with a shaking hand. She said that she had never been more nervous in her whole life. Merlin assured her that if it didn't work, and it poisoned him, it wouldn't make any difference. He would die without it.

Really, his life held very few non death options. He would either fall into a coma, be killed by the potion to cure him, or recover and then be burned at the stake for treason. So when he considered his last option, it cleared his mind. The path was dangerous, but at least he had a fighting chance.

Merlin brought the potion to himself magically. He looked at the spell, back at the corked potion, and then back at the spell. He said the words of power. The milky white potion glowed a brilliant liquid silver. Then it faded again.

Now all he needed was someone to help him take it. Lancelot was the one person in the kingdom who loved Gwen as much as Arthur did and the one person Merlin could trust beyond all others. Hopefully the poor man wouldn't lose two friends in one night.


	20. Chapter 20

Chapter 20

The feast was a small affair, as banquets went. Arthur looked around at the twenty or so folks seated at the four small tables. Most of the people were older than him, his father or Lord Byron's age. But since this was Byron's dinner party, he arranged the seating. Arthur found himself sitting with all people of his own age, Elyan, Gwen, Isrith, and Malcolm. It wasn't truly to protocol, but Arthur didn't mind, in fact he was enjoying himself. Isrith and Malcolm picked on each other constantly. It was verbal banter, sparing with words. Arthur was reminded sharply of himself and Merlin.

As for Gwen, she sat next to him. She was dressed in a gown of a noble woman. It was lavish purple with a white sash that tied around her back and then fell almost all the way to the floor. Her hair was tied back, little ringlet curls framed her face. Underneath all that finery, she was the same Gwen. She laughed deeply at Isrith picking on her brother, and she even picked a bit on her own brother, but Elyan, refused to be baited.

After dinner, Arthur stood up. The chatter immediately died down.

"Lord Byron has graciously allowed me a moment at this feast for his son to make an announcement. It has been common knowledge that my heart has belonged to Lady Guinevere for years. Tonight, with the blessing of her family," Arthur nodded to Elyan, "I would like to make it formal."

Arthur turned and bent down on one knee. He pulled out the ring, and showed it to her.

"Guinevere? Would you marry me?"

Gwen was crying openly, "Yes."

Arthur slipped the ring onto her left hand. It slipped over the knuckle and the stone rested beautifully on her hand. Arthur stood and pulled Gwen up with him. He kissed her in front of the whole crowd, to general applause and a few whoops.

After they parted, Arthur shook hands with Elyan, while Isrith and Gwen hugged and cried together.

* * *

><p>"So he's proposing tonight," Lancelot asked, as he paced around and around Merlin's bedroom.<p>

"Yes," Merlin said.

"Then I am happy for her, for them. They will be very happy."

"I know you love her," Merlin said, following him with his eyes. "It'd be only natural if you were upset."

Lancelot shook his head, "It's not like that Merlin. I admit, Gwen gave me the courage to live again. I want the best for her, and what could be better than her marrying the prince of Camelot, becoming queen?"

Merlin studied his friend, lost for words. Either Lancelot was putting on an excellent act, or he really did love Gwen so much that he could let her go if that was the best thing for her. Merlin decided it was the latter. After all, Lancelot was more about honor than Arthur, and that was saying something.

Finally Lancelot stopped pacing long enough to look at Merlin. "But telling me this is not why you wanted me to come."

"No," Merlin admitted.

"What is it then?"

Using his magic Merlin brought the silvery liquid up off the table on the far side of the room. He floated it to Lancelot who grabbed it out of the air and looked at it.

"What is this?"

"It's an antidote to this illness, but, it has never been tested, nor do I know if it will work."

"What happens if you take it?"

"It will either neutralize the magical attack on my body or…" Merlin dropped off.

"Or what?" Lancelot prompted.

"Or it will kill me."

"And you don't know one way or the other."

Merlin shook his head.

"What do you want me to do?" Lancelot asked looking both puzzled and concerned at the same time.

"Help me drink it."

"No, I cannot. The risk is far too high. This illness has yet to claim a victim. I would rather see you in a coma than dead."

"The one is the other," Merlin said, his tone pleading. "There is no way out of the coma. If I'm still alive after the Saxons have overrun Camelot, they'll kill me. The potion might not work, but it's at least a chance."

Lancelot considered him for a minute, clearly not convinced.

"I've heard the talk from around the castle," Merlin said, pleading. "There is no way that the knights of Camelot can defeat the Saxons. Even if Arthur could manage to pull a large enough force together, they have magic and are using it to their advantage. It sounds like people have all but given up."

Lancelot shrugged, conceding the point without speaking.

"If I can neutralize their magic, then you have a fighting chance."

Lancelot stared at him intently. "Can you do that?"

Merlin shrugged and made a noncommittal grunt that was almost positive.

"Merlin," Lancelot chided, "Can you or can't you? This is a matter of honor."

"What? Why?" Merlin asked studying his face in confusion. Lancelot took the title for most honorable knight of the realm, but he didn't see how the two related.

Lancelot paced over to the door. He put his arm against the wall and leaned heavily against it, as if studying the cracks in the wall. "If I have to go against the vows that have defined my life, to go against Arthur, I need to do with a clear mind." He looked back at Merlin, his brown eyes deeply troubled. "Arthur promised me that even though he condemned you to death, he had suspended sentence since you were ill. He promised me that he would not be the ultimate cause of your death. He commanded me to do nothing to aid any escape attempt that you might make, for your own safety. I gave him my word, so long as he didn't raise a hand to you, I would not aid you."

"Oh," Merlin said, feeling defeated. Damn that prat for realizing the depth of Lancelot's friendship.

Lancelot went on, "If you really can help Camelot, then for the sake of Guinevere and all those here who are defenseless I will help you with clear consciences. You would be no different than another of the knights. If you can't really help, my helping you would do nothing more than expedite your date with death."

Merlin nodded stiffly and then said, "I intend to destroy the source of the magic that is causing this illness and then destroy the Saxon sorcerers."

"Do you have a plan?" Lancelot asked.

"Not a great plan, but a plan." Merlin said.

"Is it something that I could aid you with?" Lancelot asked.

Merlin could see the torn expression on Lancelot's face. He wasn't sure if it had to do with Gwen, Merlin, or something else entirely.

"You are needed here," Merlin said. "You are one of Camelot's most talented knights. Arthur will need you on the battlefield."

"A knight's place is beside his king, or prince as the case maybe," Lancelot said. "But a knight also must protect his friends."

Merlin smiled, "To protect your friends, you need to help me. Help me drink the potion. Please."

Lancelot nodded. He pulled the cork off the bottle. He paced over to the bed. He helped Merlin tip his head back and then he brought silvery liquid to Merlin's mouth.

It took every bit of Merlin's willpower to finish off the potion. It was deathly bitter and as it slid down to his stomach it seemed to freeze his insides. The cold feeling spread from his stomach outward, down into his belly, through his abdomen, into his legs, all the way to his feet.

Instantly, the fever broke and a feeling of relief washed through him. It was like the weary feeling of returning home after a long trip. That was followed almost instantly by pain. His limbs returned to life with thousands of agonizing pin pricks all up and down his legs and arms. Merlin squirmed and yelled as his body thrashed and convulsed out of his control. He thrashed and rolled, trying to do something, anything, that would make it better. Nothing helped. He screamed as the pain rolled over him, in an endless wave.

Somewhere inside his misery, he felt Lancelot's hands on his shoulders, trying to control his thrashing. He heard Lancelot's voice from what seemed like the other end of a long tunnel.

"Merlin," he commanded, in a voice that Merlin had never heard him use before. "Merlin. You have to calm down, you're only making it worse."

Merlin would have done whatever Lancelot said to rid his body of this overwhelming pain, but he had no idea what to do. Merlin forced his eyes opened and looked at him in desperation.

"Breathe in through your nose," Lancelot supplied. "Then breathe out through your mouth. Focus on that, breathing in and then breathing out. Concentrate on just breathing."

Merlin nodded and then took the first few hesitant breaths. After a few minutes though, he felt his shoulders begin to relax. The calming feeling started spreading to his whole body. The pain was still there, Merlin could feel every pin prick, but he was getting control over it. It wasn't so overwhelming. Eventually, the pricks started getting less sharp. Then there were fewer of them. And then after what seemed like an age of the Earth, it was gone.

And so was he.


	21. Chapter 21

Chapter 21

Merlin woke to sun streaming into his windows. For a moment, he let his eyes drift blearily around the room, trying to decide if he really did survive the night. Then he saw Gwen peering at him from the door.

When they made eye contact, she smiled broadly and rushed in the rest of the way. She sat down on the chair where Lancelot had been. Her eyes were over bright, like she had been crying.

"Merlin? Can you hear me? How are you feeling?" she asked, leaning over him, her curly hair falling around her shoulders.

That was good question.

Merlin managed to wiggle all of his fingers and all of his toes. The agonizing pain that had tortured his last waking moment had subsided. The potion must have worked. But he felt exhausted and sore, like the days following the battle of Morgana immortal army, when he had been slammed into the wall. Every muscle ached; he didn't even know he had muscles in his forearms before this moment. Merlin decided not to move. He sank deeper into the sheets.

Gwen started to wail right in front of him.

"Oh Merlin. I never thought you would wake up again. Now you are awake, but you can't talk. This is awful."

Merlin started to tell her that she was wrong, but somehow he couldn't. The words died in his throat before they came out. It made an ahhck sort of sound. Gwen wailed even harder.

Gwen sat by his bed and cried harder and harder. Merlin watched her, keeping his eyes fixed on her, trying to comfort her with his eyes. She didn't stop crying, in fact, her sobbing grew to alarming level. Merlin needed to do something. He moved his bandaged, broken hand and set it on her lap, attempting to pat her knee. Moving his hand was a lot harder than it should have been. His hand felt like it weighed several thousand pounds.

Gwen grabbed his hand and it throbbed painfully. He winced, in spite of himself, and found out that there were muscles in his face, which were sore. They sat there, Gwen crying and hold his hand, and Merlin staring at her, trying not to move any part of his body. This might have gone on all day, if the door to the infirmary hadn't banged open. Merlin heard footsteps on the steps outside his room and then Arthur appeared in the doorway.

Arthur took in Gwen and Merlin and then his face contorted into something that looked like grief.

"Is he?" Arthur asked, not finishing his sentence.

"He's not dead. His fever broke last night," Gwen said quietly. "After that happens, they usually fall into a coma. But his eyes are open."

"That's a good thing right?" Arthur asked. "He's not in a coma."

"He's not in a coma. He's awake, he understands me talking to him. He can't talk. He can't move. It's like he's in a waking coma. He's trapped inside his own body. At least the others are asleep."

Arthur's face looked pained, and he paled. Gwen started crying afresh.

Arthur pulled Gwen into a hug. Merlin felt his hand fall off the side of the bed. It fell halfway to the floor before it stopped. It hung there while Gwen sobbed into Arthur's chest. Merlin tried to move his hand back. He could feel it perfectly, but it wouldn't move. Maybe his plan of getting smuggled out tonight wasn't going to work so well after all.

As Merlin strained to move his hand back to his body – it bloody hurt to hang there – Arthur and Gwen began to kiss, more passionately than Merlin had ever seen before. Merlin sighed to himself, focusing on his hand. But then he realized why it didn't work. The fever was back. He could feel it burn on the top of his head and the tips of his fingers. Fantastic. He'd have to take the crappy potion again.

Arthur squeezed Gwen more closely to him while Gwen was stroking his face with her hands. Arthur began to run his hands down Gwen's neck.

Merlin felt annoyed and very uncomfortable. First of all his hand hurt and he couldn't move it. Second, they were practically groping each other, while he was watching.

Merlin scanned the room. There was a candle lit on his dresser. Using magic, Merlin took the flame off the candle and floated it in the middle of the room. He bobbed it up and down and around them, but they didn't stop or notice. In a fit of annoyance Merlin made the flame flash white.

That got their attention. They stared at the flame transfixed, like they were in a trance. Merlin's hand throbbed painfully again. He bobbed the flame up and down, and side to side again, trying to get their attention. Neither Gwen or Arthur looked over at him, they stood just watching the fire floating the air. Merlin had an idea. He made the flame change form. A few seconds later, the words, 'Help me' floated in front of them.

Gwen flushed pink and she looked down at Merlin.

"What's wrong?" she asked.

Merlin changed his message to 'Hand.'

Gwen picked it up and moved it back to his chest. It immediately stopped throbbing. Merlin relaxed back into the bed.

Merlin changed the flame to say 'Thanks.'

"You can still do magic, even in that state?" Arthur asked.

Merlin didn't write back with the flame. He made it change from red to white to yellow to blue to orange, and gave Arthur a look that he hoped said, 'Yes, you moron.'

Arthur apparently didn't take offense to Merlin's unspoken comment because instead of a rebuke, he answered in awe. "What else can you do?"

Merlin considered for a minute. Then he managed to make the flame morph into the vision of Arthur and Gwen kissing, in miniature flame. Then from the middle of them he conjured a beautiful flame rose that grew and grew until the Arthur and Gwen were gone, replaced by the flaming red-orange flower.

Arthur and Gwen stood again transfixed.

"That's beautiful," Gwen said, in awe.

"Can you do Gwen?" Arthur asked.

Merlin found his magic taxing in a way it had never been before. He wanted to go back to sleep. Instead of doing what Arthur asked, he changed the flower into the word 'Tired'

"Please, Merlin?" Arthur asked.

From his limited place lying down on the bed, Merlin could see the desire on Arthur's face. It was the first thing Arthur had ever requested him do with magic, at least knowingly. Considering what he was planning, it wouldn't hurt to be on Arthur's good side. Merlin focused on Gwen's face for a moment, and then he felt the magic leave him. It was a small picture of just Gwen's face, maybe the size of Merlin's hand, but it captured her perfectly.

"Hold it for a minute," Arthur said, and then he left the room in the rush.

He returned a few moments with a piece of parchment. He held up the paper to the fire. Merlin understood what he wanted. Merlin moved the fire so that it just touched the surface of the paper. Then he instantly brought it back. Gwen's face had been captured on the thick sheet. Arthur set it carefully on the table to cool.

"Thank you Merlin," Arthur said.

Merlin changed the flame once more to say 'potion' and then he picked up another bottle of the silvery antidote with his magic. He was glad the Isrith had made of twenty bottles of it. He floated it over to Gwen, who grabbed it from the air

"What's this for?" Gwen asked.

'Fever' Merlin wrote with his little fire.

"I thought your fever had broken," Gwen said.

She sat down next to him on the bed. Merlin felt her cool fingers on his forehead and then on the front of his chest.

"The fever's back?" Arthur asked.

Gwen nodded, "I thought it had broken, but I guess not."

Gwen took the small bottle, and opened it. She used one hand to help hold up Merlin's head and the other to help him drink it. Once again, the cool spilled through him like his insides were slowly freezing. But thankfully, the horrible pins and needles feeling wasn't there. This time, it just made him tired.

Merlin managed to say, "Thank you." before he fell again to sleep.

* * *

><p>Merlin woke to Isrith shaking him. "It's now or never Merlin. I've set it all up. The men are waiting for you in Gaius's chambers."<p>

Merlin wasn't exactly sure he could get up. But he did feel much better than the last time he had woken. He was weak, but everything seemed to work again. Merlin put his feet on the floor and sat up. That went fine, so with Isrith's help, he stood up. He wobbled precariously, but his cousin steadied him. She helped him get dressed in real clothes that his aunt Jeneil had prepared for him. They were clothes that merchants might wear. Heavy trousers, thick boots, a long tunic belted with leather, and then a long midnight blue cloak. She even provided riding gloves. The finishing touches were Merlin's bracelet and ring, his father's gifts.

Isrith helped Merlin down the steps to the main room. She packed up the rest of the silvery potion. The white potion, she asked him to change for Gaius and Hunith. Merlin did. It was strange. He had to find his magic. It was there but it seemed to be locked away. With some effort, it worked, but it was harder. When he did the magic, he could feel the sickness spell press in on him again.

Isrith passed Merlin's bags to one of the soldiers standing in the room. They were dressed similarly to Merlin.

Isrith told Merlin, "You'll be poising as traveling merchants. You have horses at an inn in the lower town. You'll pick up your horse and then ride just outside the city limits to stay at a farm who is an old servant of my fathers. It's all prepared; they are waiting for you. You'll be out of Camelot so you can leave at first light in the morning. My brother will meet you in a small village about halfway between here and my home. I have the letter you and I wrote a few days back. I'll have it delivered after they've figured you've gone."

Merlin nodded numbly, "Thanks Isrith."

She nodded back, "Figure it out Merlin, because if you don't, we're all dead."

He nodded and limped out of the room, leaning heavily on the men beside him.


	22. Chapter 22

Chapter 22

Merlin had been gone at least a day before anyone realized. Well, Arthur mused, as he stared out his window, someone had realized. Even though Merlin was a warlock, there was no way he could have left the city in his condition, unaided. Arthur put his money on Lord Byron, although the man had denied having anything to do with it. Byron was the only person who would have had reason to smuggle Merlin out.

Gwen was the one who realized that he wasn't there. She had gone in and checked his bed, with the idea that she would get him some food, and instead of Merlin, all she found some hay, an earthenware pot, and a cheap black wig made of dog hair.

Arthur searched the city, but he knew it was pointless. Merlin was a warlock. If he had wanted to disappear, he'd be long gone. Arthur never expected to find him, but he thought he might find evidence that he had left. As Arthur's servant, and with all the things that Merlin had been doing since Arthur became regent, he was known to most of the peasants in the lower town, at least by face. But there was no trace of him. No one saw him leave. He took no belongings, and he talked to no one. He could have left by magic, Arthur supposed, but then why hadn't he done it immediately after his sentence?

Arthur had tried on several emotions about this turn of events. At first, he tried to be angry with Merlin. He couldn't hold onto his anger, which was weird, because he used to have no trouble getting angry with Merlin for things that he knew weren't Merlin's fault. He even tried to be angry for things when he knew Merlin had been in the wrong, like the time he skipped out on him for two days. He couldn't even hold on to the old anger. He knew that he should be mad as hell at Merlin for leaving, but he just couldn't be.

The emotion that had replaced his anger was even worse, anxiety. He wasn't angry, he was worried. The weather was horrible, it rained nearly every day. Merlin was sick, had been for weeks. Arthur knew that Merlin wouldn't survive. Merlin would die and Arthur would never know what happened. He hated it. He hated that it mattered so much to him.

Why did it matter so much? Why did he care so much about his servant? Was Byron right? Was it because his father never allowed him to have friends, and the first person who was like a friend, he latched onto? No, that didn't seem right. He'd had other servants before, men and boys around his age. He had never cared this much before about any of them.

When he met Merlin for the first time, in the courtyard, he had felt like he had known him, like they had met before. There was just something about him. But then, like now, he dismissed that feeling. It was insane, Merlin was a peasant from Cendred's kingdom. They had never met.

Arthur started thinking about things that his father didn't like to think about: Magic, and destiny, and God or gods who controlled the world. His father was a concrete man, he didn't like anything that he couldn't understand. Arthur knew there were many things in this world that he couldn't understand. He knew that fate was fickle and that his was mostly beyond his control. He had learned to accept that. He was wrapped up in these thoughts when there was a knock on the door.

"Come in," he called.

He turned from the window to see a small page, a boy of around eight or nine years old bow to him.

"What is it?" he asked.

"Sire," the boy said, "The Lady Isrith Byron requests your presence in the infirmary, at your convenience."

The boy lisped all the s sounds in the message. Arthur couldn't help but smile at him.

"Did she say what she wanted?" Arthur asked.

"She didn't say anything about why she wanted you to come, but I think it has something to do with Gaius, the court physician."

The word physician came out as s-si-tion. Arthur stifled a laugh.

"Why?"

"He's awake now," the boy said. "I saw him. He was sitting up, eating soup."

Arthur eye's widened, "Gaius is awake. How?"

"I don't know, sire."

"I'll come right now," Arthur said.

He followed the little boy out of his room. They turned down the hallway together and to his surprise, the boy took his hand. The little boy did a little skip about every fifth step, which made Arthur's hand bounce up and down. Somehow these simple acts comforted the worry that had settled in Arthur's chest. Then he turned to Arthur with a puzzled look in his brown eyes.

"Sire, where is Merlin?"

Arthur looked down at the boy. He was mousy and thin, with scruffy brown hair that fell in unruly locks down around his face. He was looking at him with a keen intelligence.

"How do you know Merlin?"

"Merlin used to give me things to do. Like taking notes to people, if they could read, or giving them messages that I had to memorize. He said I was really good at memorizing. He told me when I was older, he might teach me to read. Then after I would give the notes or messages, Merlin would find me apples and apricots to eat. Once, he even gave me a big piece of cheese. It was so good."

Arthur laughed. "Merlin had you taking messages to people?"

"Yep," the boy said, skipping again.

"Who did you take notes too?"

"There were two millers in the lower town that were fighting. Merlin had me taking notes to them almost every day. One time, they were mean to me, and Merlin came himself. They were nicer after that."

Arthur pondered that for a minute. Then another question came to mind.

"Did Merlin have anyone else helping him?"

"Yep," the little boy said. "He had lots to do. My mum told me that he had more work than any other servant in the castle, more by at least ten. That's why she let me help him cause he was so busy."

They reached the chambers and Arthur let go of the boy's hand.

"Thank you for escorting me here," he told the boy.

The boy rewarded him with a bright smile. Then his eyes twinkled. "Can I have apple?"

"Go on," Arthur said, with a smile of his own. "Don't push your luck."

Arthur walked into a busy room. All the people in the beds were sitting up. Some were eating, some were chatting with other. In the center of the room were Gwen and Lady Isrith. Gwen was helping Gaius eat and Isrith was brushing through Merlin's mother's hair.

"You summoned me?" Arthur said to Isrith when he walked over.

Isrith stood up and joined him, then immediately sank into a curtsey so deep, she was nearly sitting on the floor. Her blonde head was bowed so low her chin must have been digging into her chest.

"I see," Arthur said. "Perhaps it would be best to continue the discussion in private."

"Yes, my lord," Isrith said, her eyes flicking toward Gwen.

Arthur helped Lady Isrith rise from the floor, then he escorted her to the relative quiet of Merlin's room.

"So what do you have to say?" Arthur asked.

Isrith's hands were trembling, but she looked him straight in the eyes.

"I have a letter for you sire."

"From Merlin?"

"Yes, my lord."

"Did you help him leave?"

"Yes, my lord."

"Despite his poor health. Despite the fact that he was a condemned prisoner?"

"Yes my lord."

"That is treason, my lady," Arthur said coolly.

"Yes, my lord," she said, curtsying again.

"Why?" he asked the top of his head.

"My lord," she said tentatively, pulling a rolled up scroll from the folds of her dress. "Merlin said it best himself. These are his words, I wrote them down for him."

Arthur took the letter from her shaky hands. He unrolled the scroll.

_Arthur,_

_ By the time you read this letter, I will have gone. I did not tell you my plans because you would have tried to stop me from leaving, as is your right as my master and my ruler. I probably wouldn't have listened, but your interference would make things more complicated than they already were. _

_The situation is complicated enough. The laws of Camelot are quite clear on the issue of sorcery. I am in violation of those laws and I must be executed. But I have only ever used my magic to protect you and the kingdom of Camelot. If it hadn't been for me, both you and your father would be dead and there would be no Camelot. In the same breath, with the same actions, I have saved Camelot and broken the law. Magic, illegal and punishable by death, has saved Camelot, not once, but many times._

_Whether you like it or not, we're back in that place again. You need me to neutralize a magical threat. Alone, you don't have the power necessary to defeat the Saxon army. It is beyond you, it is beyond all the armies of Albion. _

_It is not beyond us together. I can neutralize the magic that has caused this illness. Then, I can destroy their sorcerers' power. Then you, the best warrior the world has ever known, can sweep the field clean. This isn't something that either one of us can accomplish alone, but together we can lay waste to them. _

_As King Regent, you cannot allow me to do magic to save the kingdom, even if it's the only way to survive. Therefore, I have removed the choice from your shoulders. I have recruited a group of soldiers from my grandfather's army. Our quest is to destroy the magic that powers the Saxons. I will contrive a way to inform you when it is safe for you to attack. Then after the battle for Albion has been won, my men and I will come back to Camelot to face our punishment. _

_I have developed a medicine to this sickness. The medicine will wake up Gaius, my mother, and every other person affected by this ailment. I have left instructions for Gaius so that he can make it. It doesn't cure the disease, rather it suppresses energy that the makes the spell work. It should bring them out of their coma. Gaius can pass the remedy to healers everywhere. Whether you wait for me or not, at least you will have your healers back before the war begins._

_As for Isrith, please don't deal with her harshly. She had no choice in her actions. Her role was forced upon her. As an unmarried lady of court, and a guest in my home, by the laws of Camelot, I, her older male relative, can order her to do just about anything, so long as it's not illegal. Nothing she did was expressly illegal. She made a potion, I was the one who used magic to get it to work. She helped me stand up, I was the one who walked out the door. I dictated a letter, she wrote it down. She did nothing in itself that is forbidden by the laws of Camelot. The guilt is mine and I will have it. _

_As soon as it is safe for you to attack, I will contact you. Until then, take care. _

_Merlin_

_Lord Merlin Emrys of Dinas Brenan_

Merlin had actually signed the letter, badly, there were so many wobbles and scribbles it was almost illegible. Under his signature, Isrith had written Merlin's full name with his title. Arthur sighed. He once again couldn't hold onto his anger. Not even at Isrith, who helped Merlin escape. Even though he knew that Merlin couldn't be strong enough to survive. If he were honest with himself, he was actually glad of her interference, now the choice to kill his former servant was totally gone.

He raised Isrith from the ground again. Her hands were still trembling.

"Merlin seems to think that nothing you did was illegal, that he was the one who broke the laws of Camelot. He believes that you should not bear any punishment for your actions. What do you say for yourself?"

Isrith looked him straight in the eyes, despite the fact her hands were shaking and she was ghost pale.

"I am guilty my lord. My cousin Merlin wishes to remove my guilt, to bring it to himself. I do admit, I wouldn't have done any of it for a lesser person than Merlin. He asked me to help him, and I did. I knew that my actions would allow Merlin to escape, I knew that they would allow him to do sorcery, which is illegal. I helped him anyway."

"Why exactly?" Arthur asked.

"Lots of reasons," Isirth said, a bit of her color returning. "He saved my life back at the clearing. I'd either be dead or wishing I were dead had he not intervened. He has a plan of sorts to defeat the Saxons. No one has come up with anything else. He gave me hope that we could survive this war. I did these things, understanding the consequences, but knowing if I didn't do them, the consequences for everyone would be much worse."

Arthur considered her standing in front of him. She was a noble of court. Her father was known throughout the kingdom for his wisdom. She was clearly guilty of aiding a condemned man escape. However, the condemned man was neither locked up nor guarded. It was probably true that Merlin had walked out the door on his own power. She clearly believed that Merlin would help, and she was willing to risk treason to help him. He couldn't in good conscience punish her for ultimately trying to help Camelot. If anyone where to blame for Merlin's escape, it would have been him. After all, he was the one who didn't have him guarded.

"My Lady," Arthur said formally, "You are obviously guilty of helping a condemned man escape, a man who is a known sorcerer. Ordinarily, the punishment for this crime is death, because it is treasonous."

Isrith nodded gravely.

"The problem is that I don't believe that your actions constitute treason. You chose your course of action because you believed it would help Camelot. It was Merlin who chose to walk the path. Your assistance was for Camelot and it could prove to be cornerstone to our survival."

Isrith's eyes were wide.

"The knowledge of your involvement in Merlin's disappearance must not leave this room. As long as no one but you and I know what you did, we can pretend that Merlin had no help. If it comes up in court my lady, I will have no choice. I will have to at the very least banish you from the kingdom, and it might come to execution."

"I will not speak of it to anyone," Isrith said with a shocked expression.

"This must never happen again," Arthur said. "The house of Byron has been loyal to the crown for years. I need to know I can trust your family."

"We are devoted to you, my lord. I will not do anything like this again, sire. Thank you." Isrith bowed even lower than before. "You will make a great king, the best this poor land has ever had."

Arthur offered her his arm, and then they descended the steps back into the sick room. Arthur walked to Gaius, who was looking a bit grey, but all in all, well considering the experience.

Arthur knelt next to the bed. "Gaius, as soon as you're well enough, we have work to do."


	23. Chapter 23

Chapter 23

Merlin remembered very little about the traveling days. He remembered being cold, miserable, and sitting half awake, half asleep on his horse. He was barely conscious when his men half walked, half dragged into shelter on the second day. He fell into something warm and soft and dropped into blissful unconsciousness.

He must have slept a long time, because when he woke up, it was to the face of a very concerned woman. She stroked his face with a wet rag and then patted his lips with it. Merlin sucked at the rag with greed, but he couldn't help it, his mouth was so parched his tongue stuck to his teeth. The woman smiled kindly and without speaking brought a cup to his lips.

Merlin expected water, but it wasn't. It was broth, thick and savory. He greedily drank several mouthfuls before she pulled it away.

"Can you sit up? We don't want you to choke."

Merlin got himself more or less upright. He drank the soup down, every last droplet. Warmth and strength flowed through his body like streams of water running through a muddy courtyard. Eventually, he felt warm and content.

The lady smiled at him and said, "That's the way. Drink it down."

Merlin started taking in details around him. The woman feeding him was old, perhaps older than Gaius. Her hair was pure white, her face as wrinkled as a dried apricot or prune. It struck him that he knew her and that she had magic. How he knew these things he didn't know. How she was awake with magic, without the potion, he didn't know.

As the moments went on, he felt restored and alive, like he sometime felt after waking up in the forest on mornings when he and Arthur were travelling. The woman's eyes flicked gold, and then Merlin felt the fever leave him.

"This won't last long, young lord, but it should hold long enough for us to talk," she said.

"I know you," Merlin said, studying her brown eyes with wonder. "How do I know you?"

"You saved my life," she said simply. "And my nephew's life."

"You're Marie," Merlin said, the name clicking into place. "The woman we found on our way to see Lord Byron. We brought you back to your village."

"I am," she replied.

"You're a sorcerer?"

"A druid," she said mildly.

"With your magic, how can you be awake? There's a spell that has been cast over the land. It has been making all people with magic very sick."

"Really? How bizarre… You are Emrys. I can help you."

"What?" Merlin asked.

"I am older than you by at least three times. This is not the first time these men have visited our shores."

"They've been here before? Do you know the way to neutralize this spell?"

"Yes, they have come before. But it is not a spell as much as it is a poison."

"A poison? What do you mean?"

"Do you know how the forces of magic work, young lord?"

That stopped Merlin in his thoughts so fast he sat up straighter in the bed. Truthfully he didn't know _how_ magic worked, he only knew that it did work and what he needed to do to make it work.

When he didn't answer, she smiled at him.

"Take your hands, hold them an inch apart from each other palms facing. Can you feel it?"

Merlin did as she requested. Both of his palms got tingly, like his very skin could feel the other hand even without touch.

"That's magic in there. Everything alive has magic, even the dirt under our feet, the hay in the tick you're lying in… they once were alive. Everything that has life energy produces so much of it that it spills all over the earth, like wine spilled on a table. It runs everywhere. Magic is the energy of life, spilling out from Earth like sweat from the skin of a farmer toiling in the sun. You and I and others like us can move that energy around, transform it, or remove it."

Merlin stared at her transfixed. It all made perfect sense. He had never heard anyone describe it like this before: Granted it was illegal to talk about and he and Gaius were generally so busy keeping people healthy and safe that they never discussed much about why it worked, they were just glad it did work.

"How does this help us with the Saxons and their magic attack?"

"You will figure it out," she said smiling.

Then, somehow, she started to fade. The edges around her got softer, like she was a ghost. Merlin realized it wasn't just her; it was everything in the room, but the room? Was it even really there? Merlin started to feel dizzy again, he laid back down on the bed. From a long way off, he heard a voice calling to him. There was pressure on his shoulder, someone shaking him.

Merlin opened his eyes again and the real world assaulted him like jousting competition. Sights, sounds, and smells hit him one after another, each like a punch to his aching head. Malcolm was standing over him, looking concerned.

"We need to get going, Merlin," he said.

With a groan, Merlin found himself being pulled up to a sitting position.

"The Saxons are closing in on this village," Malcolm continued. "If we want to stop them, we can't get caught here, in the middle of this."

"What about the people who live here?" Merlin stammered sleepily.

"I can't save them from a troupe of 2000 men with 12 soldiers. My duty is to you and Camelot as a whole. We need to find the source of the magic."

"We can't abandon these people."

Merlin looked around and realized exactly where he was. He was in the same village that Arthur and he had returned the young man and his aunt. He looked around to see he was in the exact same house as where he left the old woman. She was laying by the fire, swathed in blankets, a blank expression on her sleeping face. She was in a coma, but very much still alive.

"You have to for the good of Camelot," Malcolm said.

He pulled Merlin to his feet. Merlin felt his cousin's hand against his hand. For the first time he could feel the magic radiating off another person.

"These people are Camelot, we can't leave."

"Then we'll die with them," Malcolm insisted. "I can't hold off 2000 men, it's suicide."

Merlin walked over to where the woman was sleeping. He studied her for a minute.

"Merlin, come on," Malcolm insisted grabbing him by the shoulder.

"No, we'll defend them, just my way."

With that Malcolm's jaw dropped open. He quickly shut it and then said, "What do you have in mind?"

"Have your men draw a circle around the entire village," Merlin said.

"What? How?"

"Use a sword, or a stick. Start at the Northern end of the village and walk around it, using the stick to make a circle. Then meet me in the village center."

Malcolm looked skeptical, but he nodded. Merlin didn't watch him as he went out. He studied the old woman, seemingly in a magical sleep.

Merlin waited for Malcolm in the center of the village. It was cold but not rainy. The sky, even in the morning, was almost as dark as night. The windows of the thatched houses twinkled with firelight. The trees that surrounded the town were swaying slightly with the wind. His cousin on his black horse rode up with his troops of soldiers.

"We're all set Merlin," Malcolm said. "Now what?"

"I need you to stand here and face me and the rest form a circle around us," Merlin said.

"What are you doing?" Malcolm said.

"I'm going to try to redirect them."

"You know how to do that."

"I think so."

"Then why didn't you do it when we were surrounding the last time?"

"I didn't understand then. There were things that I know now, things that I should have known. I worked spells without ever understand how or why they worked."

"And know you know?" Malcolm said.

"Yeah."

"So, now that you know, can you make this work? This suicidal defense?"

"I hope so," Merlin said with a grim smile.

Malcolm shook his head at him, but turned around just the same and ordered the men to form a circle around them.

Merlin held up his hands at shoulder height palms out.

"Put your hands like mine."

Malcolm did with a look of complete skepticism on his face.

Merlin could feel the magic coming off his cousin like a fire gives heat. Merlin collected it inside of him and breathed the word protect. This part he knew he could do. He had done it before. Shields weren't hard to make, but they were hard to maintain. Merlin opened his eyes to see that a transparent film had materialized around himself and Malcolm. He could hold it easily with Malcolm help.

"Are you okay?" Merlin asked.

"I feel like an idiot holding my hands up like this," Malcolm replied.

"But you're not dizzy or tired? No headaches, nothing feels off or wrong?"

"No," Malcolm said. "Why?"

"You helped me make this shield. I'm just making sure it doesn't hurt you."

"I'm fine," Malcolm said.

"Then the next step," Merlin said.

He stretched out with his senses and magically found the soldiers standing in a circle around them. He pushed the shield out around them, using their energy to help make it stronger, larger. It was harder forming it into a solid shape. Each of the soldiers felt different magically. Some felt scummy, some felt light as a feather. Some of them seemed to be a color, like blue or yellow or green. It took a bit of wrangling, but eventually it formed into a shield. It was solid, like it was made of stone rather than the living air that surrounding them. Merlin pushed the shield until he felt the line that they drew around the village. He let it settle there.

"Everyone feeling all right?" Merlin called.

They all looked at him like he was insane. Maybe, he reflected, he was insane. But he was sure that shield would hold longer, harder, and better than anything he had ever put up before and he wasn't the one holding it. He directed it; the entire troop was holding it.

"Malcolm," Merlin said, dropping his hands. "Try and shoot an arrow out of the village. See if it goes through."

Malcolm took an offered bow from one of the troop. He took the arrow and pointed it toward a tree just outside the clearing. He shot it, and it flew true. Merlin felt it pass through the shield like water through a sieve. It struck the tree with a small crack and a flutter of dying leaves.

Merlin turned to the soldiers. "The shield will protect you and the village. But stay well inside of it. They cannot pass through."

The head of the group looked at Merlin skeptically. "We can shoot out, but they can't shoot in?"

"Exactly," Merlin said.

"We need more arrows," the man said.

Malcolm shook his head, "At least 2000 more."

The battle wasn't as simple as Merlin had first supposed. The army knew the village was supposed to be there. They wandered up the magical shield and found its borders within a few minutes. The soldiers started pounding on it with everything from sticks to maces. Merlin felt it hold. It didn't even shimmer. Their band of soldiers was able to shoot a large number with arrows, but the village had almost no extra arrows, and the army sitting around the outside the village must have been 2000 strong. There was no way to shoot them all.

Malcolm came to where Merlin was standing in the center of the village.

"We're out of arrows, Merlin. What now?" Malcolm said. "Are we in for a siege?"

The magic inside Merlin said no. They couldn't afford a siege. His magic was holding and having the people on the inside helping provide the energy made it almost effortless. Almost, but not quite. He couldn't hold it indefinitely. He wasn't sure if he would be able to keep it active in his sleep and how the potion would react when he had to take it.

He was beginning to regret his decision to stay and help this village. He knew it was the right one, but now that they were in the battle, he realized that they had no way to win. He could protect everyone in the village, but he couldn't defeat the army. That had never been his job. It had been Arthur's job to attack, he focused more on defense.

"Can you call the dragon from inside the shield?" Malcolm said. "Could the dragon defeat this army?"

Once again, Merlin thought no. There was no way that Kilgarah could come anywhere close to defeating an army this large on his own, nor would the beast be inclined to help much. Merlin didn't really remember much of what happened in the clearing after Kilgarah arrived but Merlin was pretty sure the dragon had been driven off by the sorcerers of the enemy.

"Merlin," Malcolm nearly begged, "This was your idea. What are we going to do?"

Merlin locked eyes was his cousin. "I don't know."


	24. Chapter 24

Chapter 24

Sir Leon pushed the beads that represented the army of the Saxons on the map. "Intelligence reports put the Saxon's army at a day's ride North of Camelot. Between the citadel and Lord Byron's estate."

"Has there been any more movement in the northeast?" Arthur asked.

"No," Leon said. "They have appeared to abandon that track. They've circled around through Cendred's land and are sweeping an advanced guard to Camelot through the northwest. The advanced guard is being followed by the army some 15,000 strong. They carry siege machines. From the reports we've gotten out of Mercia, our walls will not hold from the attack."

Arthur sighed and pushed back away from the table. He got up and started pacing the cold chamber. He walked back and forth and then back again. He knew logically that there was no way for them to win. They were outmatched both in numbers of soldiers and, although it would be the death of his father to admit it, in magic. They needed both to win. His father's twenty year policy of death to sorcerers would end up causing the fall of the kingdom he fought so hard to build.

Unless…

Merlin. Arthur's thoughts fell to his servant again. It had only been a few days since Merlin had turned up missing. Isrith Byron had insisted that Merlin had some sort of plan. That made Arthur nervous in more ways than one. Merlin's plans were usually half-cooked, never quite thought through. Arthur had probably never been more terrified in his whole life than when Merlin had dropped him out his window with a rope that wasn't quite long enough. The idea was good, the execution of the idea, not so good. Now, reflecting on his moment of sheer terror, Merlin could have prevented the fall totally by magic. He could have lowered Arthur down gently, instead of letting him fall into the stable yard.

Right now though, Merlin wasn't the problem, it was his uncle.

Byron seemed under concerned that an army nearly as large as the city itself was lodged between himself and his land. Since Merlin's escape, Arthur had a funny feeling toward the man. He was wise to be sure. His advice had been the best he'd been given. Byron seemed to know the most about the Saxons, their equipment, their magic, everything. Something about that unsettled him. His continued denials of having anything to do with Merlin's disappearance, despite the fact Arthur knew his daughter had something to do with it, combined with his uncanny knowledge about the Saxons set off a warning bell in his head. He knew that Byron was withholding information, he didn't know how he knew that or why, but he knew it was as true as his love for Gwen.

Arthur needed to know why.

"Gentlemen. Please give the Lord Byron and myself leave."

Around the room, heads nodded and chairs scrapped across the floor as the council retreated from the main room. They filtered out one by one, with the last to leave being Leon.

"Sir Leon." Arthur called before he left. "Please check on my father for me. See you if you can relate this information to him."

"Yes, sire," Leon said. Then he bowed and left, gesturing to the guards to close the door behind him.

"What did you need sire?" Byron asked smoothly.

"It strikes me that from your council you have always understood more than other men. You have been known through the kingdom for your wise councils. I had thought it had to do with perhaps a deep understanding of human nature. Now I believe differently."

"How so?" Byron said without moving a muscle in his face.

"Perhaps the real reason you are wise is not because of deep understanding but previous knowledge."

"Perhaps, perhaps not," Byron said, with a blank expression.

"You do not deny it?" Arthur said, teetering on anger.

"I can only deny that which has been accused, sire. I have not been accused of anything."

"Did you have knowledge of the Saxon force before I did?"

"Of course my Lord. The refuges had been drifting in for almost a week before you arrived."

"Before that?" Arthur asked.

Byron stayed silent for a moment and Arthur walked around him, staring at every angle of the man.

"Will you not answer me? Will you not answer your future king?" Arthur demanded.

Byron returned his gaze with a stony one of his own. Then he said,

"Due to the location of my lands, news from all parts of the world happens to my door. My stronghold is at the gateway to the lands beyond. I get all manner of information, both relevant and not. I have made it a priority to glean the information I can from the people who travel through my lands. I have learned much about the Saxons. Traditionally, there were raiders. News of their movements is valuable and I have paid highly for it from all manner of people both of Albion and the continent beyond. I heard several years back that their people were growing in number. There was talk of an invasion coming. When traders brought news of a huge fleet approaching from the east, I figured what it was."

"And you took action?"

"I did," Byron said grimly.

"What exactly did you do?"

"I bought myself some time."

"How?"

Byron looked for the first time slightly ashamed of himself. "I made a deal with the Saxon king."

Arthur felt both betrayed and angry, but he kept his temper in check. "Which was what?"

"If I made no move to oppose him, he would set up a garrison of troops in my city and let my corner of the world live in peace. I'm sure that my oldest son has followed my wishes and the Saxons are in control of my lands."

"So that's why he has bypassed your lands and headed straight for the heart of Camelot. Why?" Arthur raged out. "You went against your king, against your old allegiances, and your own honor."

Byron answered in a voice, half angry, but still very calm, "I did not go against my honor or my king. Your father destroyed my wife's entire family, weakened his kingdom to deal with his own grief and mistakes, and only received my allegiance due to geography. He neither earned nor deserved my respect."

"You owed him your allegiance, your information for his protection of your lands."

"Uther never had the power to protect anyone from this threat. As for the other threats, I am isolated against the eastern sea. His location directly to my West did more for me than anything else could have done. He did protect me from Cendred and Mercia because his citadel was between me and them. He has protected me from them for years. For that protection, I did give him the information that I had. I told him of the threat from the Saxons. I told him that they had magic and an army the likes we had never encountered before. This I gave freely, despite the money I paid to get it."

"You told him about this?"

"Yes, I did. Over a year ago."

"What did he do?"

"He did nothing. Perhaps, my information came too close to his unfortunate marriage. When I told him that we could be invaded by a large army with powerful sorcerers, all he said was that magic was evil and we would deal with the threat when it came."

Byron paused here for a moment, and Arthur, still fuming, studying him with greater interest.

Byron continued, "I knew years ago, as you do at this moment that Camelot would fall if the Saxons invaded. Our king and our kingdom are fatality weak to a threat of this nature. So when the Saxons arrived, I sent an emissary to them. We met before they left to set up camp inland. I promised what I did to protect my people, as your father would not do. At the end of this war, my people will not have suffered as much nor as long as other in Albion. They will trade one overlord for another, and their lives will go on much as they always did."

Arthur spit back, "If you had already decided your fate, already sided with our enemy, why then did you return with me or even heed my call? You could have turned me away easily and then just waited for your new king."

"I did not side with the enemy insomuch as I surrendered. My fighting men, if you hadn't noticed, are here with you. They will fight until the last man for Camelot. I don't delude myself that a Saxon king is a good thing for anyone."

"And yet you chose that path. Your actions are treason."

"Are they?" Byron asked seriously. "I had not thought surrender was treason?"

"You surrendered before there was even a battle fought."

"That makes me either a coward or a genius, not a traitor."

"I trusted you," Arthur yelled at him. "You of all the advisors seemed the most worthy, the wisest, the one who gave me the best council for Camelot, even better than my own father. And yet you have lied to me this entire time."

Byron looked at him curiously, "I haven't lied. I just haven't provided you with all the details of my life."

"It comes down to the same thing," Arthur spat out. "Why is it that no one, not one single person in my life has been honest with me? My father never told me about Morgana, Merlin never told me about his magic, you never told me about your alliance with the enemy."

"All of those things happened for damn good reasons," Byron said with the first heat to his voice. "Your father had every reason to be scared about Morgana and what she would do if she realized she were his daughter. Her mother was a powerful sorceress. Morgana carries the Pendragon blood, with its lust for power, and the cunning of an enchantress. Even as a child, Uther both loved and feared her. That's why, though he cared for her, he denied her parentage. He allowed her to continue to think she was Gorlois's daughter because he didn't want to her to know she had a claim to the throne."

"And it didn't work. She found out anyway, and in her bitterness she turned against Camelot. If she had known…" Arthur rubbed his head in frustration.

"What? Do you really believe that if she had known things would have turned out for better? You don't know that. You can't know that. She was another motherless child in the palace. It would have been easy for a powerful noble or petty king to use her to try and overthrow Uther."

"You knew." Arthur pointed out. "I'm sure there were others that did."

"I didn't know as much as I suspected. I only suspected because I was a good friend to Gorlois when Morgana was born. Unless she was a seven month child when she was born, I knew that she was not her father's child. And yet, Gorlois said nothing, did nothing, and treated her well. I could guess at who the father was and why a man of Gorlois's temper would have held it in check. Only the daughter of a king would have made him do that. Gorlois was a good friend to the king, but I'm sure he saw a way to the throne through Morgana. After all, Ygraine had died and you had been kept away from the public. There were rumors you were a sickly child. Gorlois controlled Morgana, and through it, he had power over the king. Then after Gorlois died, Morgana went to Uther. It all made sense."

Arthur sighed. The man was right, of course. He always seemed to be right. That was frustratingly annoying.

"As for me, I did what I did to preserve my family and my people in a time of a weak king. Your father is weak in both mind and body and yet still arrogant enough to believe that he isn't. I told your father of the danger; I gave him ideas to combat it. I tried everything that I knew how to do to prevent this catastrophe. Your father rejected it. So when the time came, I allied myself with the side that I knew was going to win for the sake of my people."

Angry thoughts raged through Arthur's mind. Denials, retorts, justifications poured through his brain one after another after another. But as his heart thudded under his chest, he could feel the truth in the words. He knew that Byron was right and even perhaps wise to have chosen his path. How many times had he himself gone against his father's poor council? How many times was his father content to sit in the castle and watch his people suffer for his lack of valor? Why exactly was it Arthur's duty to battle the dragon, to defeat an immortal army, where was his father?

Byron continued after a pause, "You did have a good question earlier and one that deserves being answered. Why did I bother to come to your aid after I had already made my bed with the Saxons?"

"Why did you?" Arthur said.

"Merlin." Byron said, letting the word hang in the air like a spell of power.

"Merlin?" Arthur questioned.

"Yes, Merlin," Byron repeated.

"I don't understand."

"I thought my wife's sister was dead. I thought that was the reason that we hadn't heard from her. When I found Merlin, realized who he was and what that meant, I was furious with him."

"Really?" Arthur said, the anger morphing briefly to confusing. "Why?"

"I knew his parents. I knew what his father could do. I knew that he would have had to have magic, and if Hunith gave Balinor his first born son, then it explained clearly why she had never left her corner of Cendred's kingdom. Unknown and unseen and out of Camelot was the only way Merlin could have survived the great purge.

"And then too throw his mother's sacrifice to the wind and live in the one place where having magic, or even having someone think you have magic, could get you killed practically overnight. Not only was he living in the very walls of Camelot, he was serving the son of the man who hunted down his parents like they were animals. I was beyond angry. I was livid. I very nearly claimed my right over him as his only living male relative and forced him to my house and service, where I would have whipped him to an inch of his life before sending him to bring his mother back to us."

Arthur's mouth fell open and he gaped for a second. Then quickly regaining his composure, he said, "But you didn't."

"No," Byron agreed. "I didn't.

"Why?"

"He believes in you. He believes that someday you would make everything right in this kingdom. He believes that you would be become the most famous, most admired, most noble king the world had ever seen. He has faith in you. Faith the kind I have not seen in my lifetime. My own children don't have that much faith in me."

Byron paused for a moment and then started to pace the room.

"Imagine my position, sire," Byron said, turning in a circle. "I had all but severed my ties to the crown, I had aligned myself to the invaders in order to save my people from the worst of the upcoming war. And poof, out of nowhere, my long lost nephew shows up, who just happens to be the most powerful warlock the world has ever seen. And that man, that incredibly powerful sorcerer, believes almost blindly that you can bring this land to greatness."

"He really thinks that?" Arthur asked.

"He doesn't think it sire, he believes it…. he's as sure of your destiny as his own eventual death."

"Why?" Arthur said.

"That information I haven't been privy too, nor do I really think I want to know. My guess is through crystals or prophetic dreams, or perhaps the dragon. Legends tell of dragons that can tell the future."

Before Arthur could process the conversation, Sir Leon burst back through the door.

"Sire," Leon said breathlessly. "News from the scouts. The Saxon leading wave is attacking a village a half a day's ride from here, well inside Camelot's borders. My source estimates 200 foot soldiers."

"Make ready the army to ride, two hundred horseman. We'll ride at first light."

"Yes, my lord." Leon said.

"And Leon, take Lord Byron to the dungeons. He is charged with treason."

Confusion flashed across Leon's face before it fell back to the mask of a solider.

Arthur gave Byron one more look and then amended, "When this threat has been neutralized, we will discuss your actions in more detail and a council of your peers can decide whether your actions constitute treason."

"And if the threat is not neutralized?" Byron asked.

Arthur gave him a brief smile, "Then you will have proven how wise a leader that you are."

"Then, Sire, please, before I take my place in the dungeons, allow me an audience with my men. I will speak to them and transfer their allegiance directly to you."

Arthur regarded the man with lifted brows and then nodded. "So be it. Leon allow it, and then afterward escort him to the dungeons. Then report back to me. We have work to do."


	25. Chapter 25

Chapter 25

If Merlin had ever suffered through a longer night, he couldn't remember it. Merlin didn't know if the shield would hold if he fell asleep, and he only took half the potion, enough to hold the fever and paralysis at bay, but not enough to stave off the headache.

So he sat, in the middle of the village, with a constant rotating guard whose job it was to keep him awake. He was cold, his head pounding, and every time he started to relax, someone shook him, hard. It went on this way for hours, until near lunchtime.

Malcolm brought him some lunch and then sat with him as the sun started to fall in the south western sky.

"You look awful," Malcolm commented, poking at the fire they sat by with a stick.

"I feel awful," Merlin said back.

Malcolm studied him. He seemed to be having some kind of a painful internal struggle.

"What?" Merlin asked.

Malcolm smiled grimly, "You are the most downright irritating person I have ever dealt with, even more so than my sister Isrith."

"Thanks," Merlin replied, miserable.

Malcolm went on like he hadn't heard, "Isrith's annoying, don't get me wrong, but you are a master. I thought, at first, that you were brave and noble, willing to sacrifice your life for others. Now, I just think you have some kind of death wish. You seem determined to kill yourself, and now you're going to take me with you. That's the thanks I get… I risked my life and everything that I hold dear to protect you so that we can neutralize the magic threat against Camelot. My life as it was is over. And now, not even two days into the quest, you commit us to a siege that we cannot win, nor can we escape. Not only did we not even come close to accomplishing our goal, we're going to die as traitors."

Merlin didn't answer, he just bend his head further forward. A guilty conscience was a perfect fit for a miserable body.

"The thing that really really irks me is that you're just sitting here," Malcolm said, "not even trying to figure out a way to get us out of this. You've just stared at this fire all morning long."

"I don't know what to do," Merlin almost shouted, his temper short inside of his aching head.

"You were prophesied to be the most powerful sorcerer in the entire world and you can't figure out how to get out of this?"

"I… I don't… It's not that simple."

"What kind of sorcerer are you exactly?" Malcolm said, standing up and throwing his stick into the fire. "I've heard stories of sorcerers who could control the weather, who could make a sick cow better, who could make a barren woman have a child and even stop death in its tracks. All you've done, all powerful Emrys, is to put up a shield and talk to a dragon, a dragon that you won't even call to prevent your eminent death. You are about as powerful as a daisy."

Merlin jumped to his feet, "That isn't fair."

"Life isn't fair cousin. You of anyone should know that by now."

"Magic is illegal, I haven't been able to… if things had been different…" Merlin sputtered out.

"Dammit Merlin, if you want magic to be legal, you have to show them. Everything you've done with your magic has been behind backs and in dark alleyways away. You've lied, you cheated, and you've even abused your position of trust because of your magic. You are part of the problem."

"I am not," Merlin shouted. "I would never use my magic for evil purposes. I would never use it to gain power or lord over anyone."

"You won't use your magic period, unless you can lie about it. You won't even use it to save yourself, or me. You refuse to use it for the reason it was given to you."

"THAT'S NOT TRUE. I have used to protect Arthur, so that he can become king."

"Then what the hell are we doing right now? Are we protecting Arthur?"

"We're protecting Camelot," Merlin said.

"So we're leaving Arthur to die?"

"No, he's safe back at the palace."

"You are an idiot. This is just the beginning. An army of 2000 is marching toward Camelot. We have them distracted for the moment, but they can and will march on Camelot soon. And if Arthur found out about this little invasion, he'll come straight here. He can't win this fight because they have sorcerers. So are you leaving Arthur to die?"

"NO," Merlin shouted.

"Then do something. These people are going to destroy us. Stop wallowing in your own self-doubt and do something."

Malcolm stalked off back toward the inn where the smell of fresh bread was wafting out into air.

Merlin couldn't sit anymore. He stood and began pacing around his small fire, anger swelling in his stomach. He was angry at Malcolm for insinuating that he didn't try. Then a second later, he realized that he was even angrier that Malcolm was probably right.

He hadn't really tried to learn about magic. He learned spells, he played parlor tricks; he did things in shadows and behind closed doors. He never had faced off with another sorcerer, not on his own, not without help from Gaius or the Great Dragon or both. Now it was almost too late for him to really understand magic, how it worked, why it worked, and what he could do without the casings of words. He was working without a net. He needed to do magic without a book, or a dragon, or a wise old man. His back was against a wall.

The anger that had been playing in Merlin's stomach formed around something solid. The Saxons. This was their fault. They wanted to take over his land, his home, and destroy his friends and family.

He let his mind flow out and to see if he could sense what was going on outside the shield. He brushed his mind on the soldiers nearest to the shield, the ones still on guard. They felt weird, hallow and blank, nothing like the men he felt before. Then he brushed more soldiers until he had touched his gaze on most of them in the group. Most of them were almost blank. There were others, a group of maybe 50 that weren't totally blank. They were spread in the midst of the blank ones. Then Merlin brushed ten or so men who were fully alive, two of which were sorcerers.

Merlin turned the information over in his mind. He brushed his mind on the people inside the shield. The men, women, and children of this village were all alive, not muted, not blank. Their emotions played through his mind like a strumming of a harp, not quite in tune, but a whole and vivid picture. The people outside weren't like that. It was like a choir of people singing where only 10 out of the whole group of 2000 were actually making music, the rest just blindly followed along.

Why? How could it be that a person was totally blank with no thoughts or emotions of his own? Merlin walked up to the edge of the shield, where the army was encamped. There were a line of soldiers facing him, looking straight at him, despite the fact they couldn't see him. Their faces were covered with a full metal helmet and they all had a hood of sorts that was attached to their jerkin which was under their mail. Their hands were covered in gloves, and they wore long pants and rough boots. It occurred to Merlin that there was no part of a person showing.

Merlin used his magic again to reach out to the person standing directly in front of him. He was totally blank, not a thought or emotion in his head. Merlin could hear a sort of thumping in his ears, which must have been his heart beating.

Cautiously Merlin used his magic to pull off the man's hood and helmet. The man jerked away clumsily and Merlin could dimly sense a deep reaction inside of the man. But as soon as the helmet was gone, lying on the ground, the blankness returned and the man was content to stand there without a helmet.

A ghostly woman came to stand next to him. Merlin turned to look at her. It was the woman from her dream.

"Fascinating isn't it? They aren't really there are they?"

Merlin regarded her, she wasn't truly there, Merlin could see through her.

"No, they're not," Merlin agreed. "But neither are you. I must be hallucinating."

The woman laughed at this, it was a lovely sound, like a bubbling stream. "Perhaps, young lord, you are. But for you, the real world and the world of magic exist together. Part of your soul is locked in the mortal world; the other part is locked in the magical world. You can thank your father the dragonlord for that gift."

Merlin glanced over at her. "So if you're in a coma lying in that hut over there, how is it that I can see you and I can talk with you?"

She looked at him soberly. "You are dying, young lord. The strain is too much even for you. Your perceptions of what is real and what is of magic are blurring."

Merlin nodded.

The woman continued, "So do you understand what is happening?"

Merlin nodded, "I think so. It's a poison, before long everyone will become like this poor man."

"The soldiers will," she agreed, "the men who cannot stand the strain of the attack. They will come under the spell. Even great men like your uncle and prince will eventually fall to the spell. Uncover the rest of that man's face and you'll see."

Merlin pulled the hood down from around his face. Once again Merlin could tell that the man didn't like it and that it unsettled him, but once the hood was down, and his whole head was exposed, he fell silent and still.

Merlin stared at the man for a moment before his mouth dropped open. It was old man Smith who lived a few miles from Ealdor. Merlin's mother had sent Merlin to him many times to get herbs for her medicines. Smith was not a soldier and he had been old when Merlin was a child. Now he had to be in his sixties, and to be standing there all night in heavy armor? He couldn't have done it. There was no way a man of his age and health could have stood outside all night in the winter in full armor.

Something like nausea hit Merlin in the inside, so forcefully he fell to his knees. This man wasn't an enemy; he was friend, a very old friend at that. Merlin gave in and started to throw up violently. He never realized how powerful magic could be in the wrong hands. Even Morgana had never done anything this awful, to this many people. Merlin continued to be sick on the ground, until he felt a warm hand on his neck.

Malcolm's voice came from above him, "Are you all right?"

Merlin coughed and then said hoarsely, "That man, right there. He was an old neighbor of mine in Ealdor. He was a friend of my mother's."

Malcolm pulled Merlin's arm around his own shoulder and then heaved Merlin back into a standing position.

"I'm sorry that a friend of yours chose to turn traitor."

Merlin stared at him for a minute before catching on, "No, he's not a traitor, he's not even there. He's blank."

"Blank?" Malcolm asked.

"Yes, blank. Just look at him. There is nothing going on inside of his head, no thoughts, no emotions. He's old. He wouldn't even be able to stand in that armor, much less fight. The same thing that is causing me to be sick overthrew his mind. He's a like a puppet."

Malcolm studied the man standing in front of them for almost a minute while he held Merlin up.

"It's a spell?" Malcolm asked.

"Probably," Merlin agreed.

"Can you break it?"

Merlin studied his cousin and then old man Smith. He owed it to the poor man to try. He nodded to Malcolm.

Merlin brushed his mind over old man Smith again. He forced his way into man's head where he heard that constant thumping. That was the source of the spell, he could hear it thudding his own body, pushing against his magic. Merlin pushed it away from the old man, until it faded from his mind. Instantly, the man's eyes flashed and he staggered under the weight of his armor. He fell to the ground, his eyes darting around like a madman's. Merlin sighed and let the spell break, he slumped against Malcolm, panting like he had just run a mile.

Within seconds, the old man's eyes glazed over again. He stood up without trouble and stood in line next to his fellows.

Malcolm swore to himself softly, and then he pulled Merlin backwards toward the center of the village. He dropped Merlin off by the fire, threw a blanket over him, and then walked off again.

The old woman appeared next to Merlin again. She sat next to him and put a ghostly hand on his shoulder.

"I told you, did I not, that this is a poison. It seeps and creeps into people's minds and bodies. It cannot be pushed away, it cannot be held off. It has to be destroyed at its base."

"Which is what?" Merlin asked her.

"How does your shield work?" she asked back.

"It's anchored to the soldiers in camp," Merlin replied.

"Therefore…" she prompted.

"The spell is attached to people in the group," Merlin replied.

"And they were the ones…"

"That could think for themselves. They are poisoning everyone else," Merlin said, letting his eyes half close.

Malcolm appeared over him again, holding a tankard. Malcolm looked left and right and then over his shoulder.

"Who are you talking too?" he asked, handing the mug over to Merlin.

The woman smiled at him and then faded away. Merlin took a drink from the tankard. The thick liquor stuck to his tongue and the bitter herbs made his eyes water.

"An old woman in a coma," Merlin said, with a sigh.

Malcolm's eyebrows shot up, "Are you all right, cousin?"

Merlin started to laugh, "No."

"Well, guess what," Malcolm said bitterly. "True to my word, Arthur and company just crested the hill to the south. We have ourselves a real party."

Merlin took another long pull off the tankard in front of him. "I think I know how to break the spell."

"What? You just figured that out in the two minutes it took me to get you something to settle your stomach."

"I didn't figure it out, the woman in the coma told me," Merlin said.

"Okay," Malcolm asked, concern creasing his eyes. "You should get some real rest Merlin. I think you're hallucinating."

"I'm definitely hallucinating, but that doesn't mean I'm wrong. She told me what to do, and it makes sense. I just need your help."

"You're talking to a woman in a coma, and following her advice about stopping this invasion."

"Is it any weirder than anything else I've done?" Merlin asked.

"Good point. So are we going to die, then?" Malcolm asked.

"Definitely," Merlin replied.

"Fine," Malcolm said shaking his head. "What do you need me to do?"


	26. Chapter 26

_a/n: It occurred to me that I hadn't updated in almost three weeks. I meant to update weekly. Sorry. Another new chapter today._

Chapter 26

Arthur and Leon crested the hill together side by side. The scene that unfolded struck an arrow into Arthur's guts. Leon's information was plain wrong. There weren't two hundred soldiers here, there were at least two thousand. The Saxon army outnumbered them ten to one. The army surrounded an area maybe an acre or two in size, which Arthur couldn't see. Mist surrounded that space, so although the sun danced brightly in the sky, Arthur's vision couldn't penetrate it.

Leon nodded toward the area, "Magic, my Lord."

Arthur felt his eyebrows raise, "Magic?"

"My grandfather spoke of this kind of magic. He fought against it many times in his youth."

"Merlin," Arthur muttered to himself, feeling both angry and bitter.

"Let's hope so," Leon replied, nodding.

Arthur spun to look at the knight. "What?"

Leon sighed, "Let's hope it is Merlin's doing. If it's anyone else, we'll be dead before the sun sets."

Arthur's stomach twisted with Leon's words.

"You hope that Merlin is down there? Doing magic?"

"Better him than some other sorcerer."

"We can't trust Merlin. He practiced magic behind my back for years. I don't know what Merlin's motives were, or why he served me for so long. But magic is corrupt. It can't be trusted."

"My Lord," Leon said gently, "I know Merlin. He is a good man, a brave man, and most importantly, loyal to you. He's as loyal to you as he is his own mother, or to Gaius. Over that, if he has strength enough to shield an entire village from attack, think what he could do for our army? We would have a chance."

Arthur stared at Leon feeling something akin to shock. He felt like that only a few other times before, like when he saw Morgana sitting on his father's throne. Or when he realized she was his sister.

"You think Merlin, a sorcerer, should fight with us? Seeing what you've seen, battling against magic all this time, you believe that we can trust a sorcerer to help us?"

"I trust Merlin," Leon said quietly. "He has earned my trust. He has stood by you in the darkest days during the darkest times. A sorcerer he may be, but he is a good man."

"I wish I could believe you," Arthur said.

Some of the bitterness flowed out of Arthur's mouth. But it didn't make him feel any better.

"Don't believe in my words Sire," Leon said seriously, "Believe in what he's done; believe in what you've seen. When Merlin is with you, have you been injured? Has there ever been a magical threat to Camelot that has not been overthrown? Many of the knights believed the boy was some kind of good luck charm, protecting you from harm. Now we know. He was protecting you with magic. He has protected all of us with magic."

"He lied to me," Arthur said, sighing.

"Yes he did, but he did it for good reasons. Tell me Sire, what did you do when you found out Merlin was a sorcerer?"

"I condemned him to death," Arthur said, feeling somehow worse.

"As would have your father," Leon agreed. "What if you had caught Merlin in the act of protecting you while your father was able to lead us? Would you have told your father that your servant had used magic to save your life? Knowing of course that your father would condemn him to death, either by beheading him or burning him?"

The thought hit Arthur hard. If he had to choose to turn over Merlin to his father for execution, would he have done it? He protected Merlin from his father on several other occasions. Why had he protected Merlin those times? He thought about it for several seconds before settling on the idea that his father could be unreasonable about many things.

When he didn't answer Leon continued.

"Sire, Merlin couldn't tell you the truth, but in his way, he helped you as much or more as any of your knights. He humbled himself to be your servant, when he could have been or done many other things, outside of Camelot. Look at the shield. You see what he can do. He's never done anything to harm you."

"Why?" Arthur said bitterly. "Why do people lie to me? My father, Lord Byron, Merlin… I'm tired of not knowing the truth."

Leon gave him a wan smile, "Then you need to be a person who can accept the truth, my lord. Can you accept people for who they really are?

Arthur found he neither wanted to answer, nor could he come up with any response that vaguely made sense.

Leon said after a few minutes of silence, "I'll position the cavalry at the bottom of the hill. We will await your orders Sire."

Arthur watched Leon's red cape flow behind him down the hill. Leon left him there purposely alone, to watch the hill and the misted village below.

What Leon said stuck to Arthur like mud to his boots. He could neither stop thinking about it, nor make it cleaner. If he wanted the truth, he needed to be a person who could accept the truth. Wasn't he? What would he have done if he had known from childhood that Morgana was his sister? No, that wasn't the right question, Arthur decided after some consideration. What would the kingdom have thought? It could have caused war with Gorlois, which could have quite possibly broken the kingdom in two. Could have he dealt with it? Yes. He always considered Morgana a sister to him; they grew up together after all. But the kingdom couldn't have dealt with that blow.

As for Byron, Arthur reflected on his words. 'I surrendered before there was a battle. That makes me either a coward or genius, but not a traitor.' Byron slyly allied himself with both sides of the fight because despite all of his efforts he knew that they couldn't win. Could Arthur accept that for what it was, a desperate man trying to save his family?

As for Merlin, Arthur realized painfully that Merlin chose to stay with him as a servant when he could have lived as a king in his own right. Merlin could have overthrown Camelot in a trice. And yet, he humbled himself to be a servant, to protect and serve Arthur.

Arthur realized with a start that he had done nothing to deserve that loyalty. He had been miserable to Merlin most of the time. Merlin had borne the brunt of his bad moods, had bruises from thrown goblets, and had endured more insults than a bearded woman.

Was he a person that could accept the truth? Was he? Was anyone, Arthur wondered? How could any accept that their servant, their mouthy servant at that, was the most powerful sorcerer in the world, in disguise? How could anyone accept that his father's ward was actually his father's daughter from another woman, a woman who was married to his best friend?

No. Truth hurt. It was messy, complicated, and dirty. It exposed people for who they really were. His father's transgression, made real in Morgana, showed him to be as selfish as Arthur knew him to be. Uther believed that his life and the lives of the nobles of the court were more valuable than the rest. Perhaps in a way it was true, but still, that belief never sat well with Arthur. He could never stop himself from seeing the pain in a person's eyes. A life was a life, pain was pain, regardless of status.

If the truth exposed people for who they really were, what did that make Merlin? Merlin masqueraded as a servant when in truth he had power at his fingertips. It would have been a simple matter to overthrow all of Camelot. Yet, he didn't. He spent his time washing floors, serving meals, and cleaning up after Arthur. Merlin complained about his jobs from time to time, but considering the Merlin could have killed him with a single thought…

The thought jarred something in Arthur's memory. When he first met Merlin in the courtyard of the palace, Merlin had taunted him, he said something like, 'I could take you down with less than a blow.' This was what he meant. Arthur had attacked him with perhaps not his full gusto, but nearly. In response, Merlin restrained from killing him, from even hurting him.

Then he remembered Merlin continued insistence that he would be Arthur's servant until the day he died, despite how much better of a life he could have had elsewhere. Even after Merlin's true birth status became known, when Merlin could have had riches and land legally, Merlin was still reluctant to leave.

Arthur nearly staggered when the truth of his thoughts hit home. Merlin stayed because he cared. Merlin was a friend to him regardless of whether he was a friend back. Merlin lied, yes, but the motive behind it wasn't selfish. Merlin lies were forced by necessity. The lies were half survival and half an act of friendship. If Arthur had found out when his father was running the kingdom, Arthur would have been forced to choose between his father's laws and a friend, someone he couldn't really live without. It would have been awful.

Scratch that, it was awful. Arthur did have to condemn Merlin to death. He couldn't have executed Merlin; he knew that at the time. His trumped up excuse was that the illness would kill Merlin, so it didn't really matter. He couldn't have done it himself.

Merlin's words from the trip to Lord Byron estate came back to him. Merlin had said that Arthur knew why Merlin hadn't left him for another position. Arthur didn't understand then. He did now.

He and Merlin together could build a whole new world. Together they could bring peace to Albian. Without him, all would be lost.

Arthur's eyes drifted to the scene in front of him. It still could be awful. Leon's words hit home. It damn well better be Merlin down there. Who else would bother protecting a small village magically? Who else would give them a chance to win? Merlin.

* * *

><p>Malcolm regarded Merlin with the expression adults usually reserved for talking to small children.<p>

"Run that one past me again," Malcolm said. "Because I'm pretty sure you said something about one horse, a long bow, and how I'm going to ride standing up."

"Drink up," Merlin said with a cheeky grin.

"So you're serious?" Malcolm asked, his face grim.

"You told me to quit feeling sorry for myself and do something. This is something."

"I meant figuring out some elaborate magical scheme that will cause everything to be all right. Riding into the middle of that army while standing on the back of my horse is not exactly what I had in mind."

"It'll work."

"How?" Malcolm asked, his face screwing up in puzzlement. "I can't stand up on horse, much less shoot from the back of it while it's running. Over that, I'm a terrible shot to begin with, I won't be able to hit anything on a horse, much less standing up on the horse. If I remember our family history right, I think an uncle of ours met his end this way."

"Really, he was able to ride a horse standing up? That's impressive," Merlin said.

"No, he died after being thrown from a horse."

"I warned you that we were going to die, you agreed to help."

"I'm more than willing to die if my death will serve some greater purpose. This is just stupid."

"It'll work."

"Enlighten me then. Why will it work?"

"The spell at work here is woven through the people. There are only really maybe a hundred people in this group that can actually think for themselves. The rest have been enchanted, under a spell. It's like the shield that I placed around this village, your men are holding the brunt of it. I just directed it and drew on their energy to do it.

"So, if we killed the group leaders," Malcolm dawning comprehension in his eyes

"The group will descend into chaos," Merlin said with a smile. "Most of them probably aren't even enemies. They have absolutely no idea who they are, or where they are, or what they are doing."

"That's not a bad plan," Malcolm said, but he still looked dubious. "Just how exactly am I going to stand up on the horse?"

"Magic," Merlin said with a shrug.

"That's a lot of magic going on," Malcolm pointed out. "Between holding me up, scanning the crowd for targets, and the shield we'll need."

"Shield?" Merlin asked.

"We won't make it five steps out of the village without some kind of defense, Merlin. Think about it."

Merlin did. He sighed in frustration.

"Can you handle it?" Malcolm asked.

"I guess I'll have to."

"That's not reassuring," Malcolm said. Then his eyes twinkled, "How about this instead..."


	27. Chapter 27

_a/n: This is a chapter for everyone who loves the rouge, uncouth, Gwaine. _

Chapter 27

Arthur continued to muse on the top of the hill when he noticed a disturbance below in the field. A single horse seemed to be riding through the ranks of soldiers. The lines shifted and moved to accommodate the rider.

Then, one of the enemies lit up with a sudden white light. It looked like the pores of his skin radiated moonlight. A second later, the horse changed direction and rode at a full gallop straight for that man.

Arthur was too far away to see what exactly happened, but the man bathed in the moonlight was obviously cut down by the horseman. The light flashed out.

Then suddenly, like the flame of a candle being extinguished by a cold wind, the soldiers around the horse broke ranks. Not in any kind of logical way. Some of them fell to the ground, like a puppet with its strings cut. Some of them wandered off into the nearby formations, causing more rippling in the lines. Some of them took off running away from the encampment. Still others just stood in one spot, stripping off their armor.

Then almost as suddenly as they broke formation, they were flowing back into a formation. It took several heartbeats, but the reformed ranks, almost like a flock of birds flying around a large tree.

Another man in the ranks flared up like a stray moonbeam. The horseman turned and galloped towards him. Several arrows tanged from bows aimed for horseman.

Then Arthur realized that there were two people on the horse, riding back to back, the one behind rode without a saddle. The arrows flew toward the horse, the man in back waved his arm and the arrows burned up in a bright orange flame. The front of the two men cut down the man lit with moonlight.

Once again the enemy broke ranks all around. Once again within a few seconds the chaos dissolved and the ranks reformed.

Again, a figure lit up in a white light, maybe 10 feet to the left. The horse spun and that Saxon dropped before he even realized what had happened. Once again like an erratic flock of ducks, the army scattered. This time it took longer, almost a full minute before the army reformed in a logical way. But not before some of the soldiers in the army fled into the forest.

Another Saxon lit up the gloom. The horse turned to make toward the new target, but the men on horseback were in trouble. The enemy sent in three horsemen of their own, riding over dozens of their own soldiers in their haste to attack.

One of the Saxon's horsemen was thrown from his horse, although Arthur couldn't understand how. The next man bathed in white fell to the blade. It brought the two attacking men into profile.

Arthur got a good look at them. The one on the back was obviously Merlin. The man on the front was harder to see but Arthur would have bet his mother's ring that it was Malcolm, Merlin's cousin.

A mounted horseman rode toward them, but Merlin wasn't looking that way.

"Merlin!" Arthur screamed, even though there was no way Merlin could have heard the warning.

Despite the distance, Merlin's eyes flipped to exactly the where the danger approached. Merlin lifted his arm and the man on the horse went flying.

Then Arthur heard Merlin's voice in his head, 'Thanks.'

Arthur nearly fell off his horse.

Another person lit up white. The person riding up front of Merlin made several incredibly short turns, and quickly decapitated the man.

One whole cohort of troupes fell apart. The soldiers simply stopped being soldiers. They either fled into the woods or sat down and stopped moving, or wandered around aimlessly. The seconds ticked by and they didn't reform ranks.

Another person flashed white, but they were a long way from the horse. Was it Arthur's imagination, or did Merlin seem to slump half on his cousin in front of him? They were surrounded on all sides by mounted horseman. Malcolm turned the horse in three circles, before he rode the horse at a hard gallop at another rider. Arthur could hear the crash from where he stood.

Arthur didn't think. He yelled at the top of lungs, "Attack!", and then spurred his horse down the hill. Before he reached the bottom of hill Leon was at his side. Together they plunged ahead.

With his sword, Arthur cut down two the nearest horsemen. Leon dispatched two on the other side. They converged together on Merlin.

Merlin was standing over his cousin Malcolm. Arthur watched as Merlin thrust his hand forward and the last of the cavalry nearest them was blown off his horse with such force that man flew two hundred feet.

"Merlin," Arthur said in greeting.

"Arthur!" Merlin nearly screamed, pointing behind him.

As Arthur turned to look, a dagger stopped moving in front of his turned face, millimeters from his nose. It fell away quickly. "Thanks," Arthur said. Then he grabbed Merlin by the arm, and hauled him bodily onto the horse behind him. "Leon, get Merlin's cousin."

Malcolm, cleared injured, had risen, and Leon pulled him on to his horse. Their army of two hundred fell in behind and around them. More Saxon horsemen started forward toward their huddled group.

"Engage the enemy at last resort," Arthur shouted to his men surrounding them. "We are too outnumbered to last. Unless," Arthur looked at Merlin. "You have an idea."

It was Malcolm answered, his voice bitter, "You see that man who has the light around him. Kill him."

"Why?" Leon asked.

"The whole group is being controlled by a handful of sorcerers," Merlin answered, his voice so fatigued it was barely more than a whisper. "If we kill the sorcerers, the whole army will fall apart."

Arthur looked at Merlin, his bent figure, and his eyes which were continuing to flash gold every few seconds.

"How many are there?" Arthur asked.

"I don't know," Merlin admitted. "More than twenty, less than fifty."

"Can you light them all at once?"

"Yeah," Merlin said, closing his eyes.

"Do it," Arthur ordered. Then he raised his voice, "Divide into groups of four. Attack the people who are lit with magic, like that man there." Then all around more men started to shine white. "Each group take out those men, they are the highest priority. Engage others only where necessary. Quick and fast and then back to me."

Leon raised his sword and yelled, "For Camelot!"

The horsemen responded, "Camelot!" And then they charged off in every direction.

Leon and Arthur stayed back. Their horses held a double burden and they wouldn't be much use in the fight. Arthur rode back to the foot of the hill, and then on a whim decided to remove Merlin completely from the fighting. After they got to the top, Arthur dismounted and helped Merlin, who was half distracted off the horse.

Then Arthur watched the battle, half supporting Merlin at this side. It was chaos the likes that Arthur had never seen. The Saxons acted more like a swarm of bees than an army. Pockets of people moved together, doing vaguely what the people around them did. Some attacked, some retreated, some scattered.

A group of twenty knights began tearing up the lighted people on the eastern flank. Within seconds the five group leaders were gone. The soldiers in that group stripped off their Saxon colors. Arthur gasped. They wore the colors of Caerleon.

Arthur stared at the Caerleon's troupe in shock. Surely they wouldn't be fighting with the Saxons. Their own kingdom had been destroyed. As if in answer to Arthur's question, the troupe put up a yell, and started attacking alongside his men.

The Saxons began a hasty, confused retreat. A group of soldiers formed ranks around the lighted men and they started to flee north.

Arthur sighed. There was no way his army, small as it was, could give chase and finish off the group. They were too spread out to do much more than pick up a few stragglers as the main army fled.

From directly across the valley, Arthur heard a war whoop. Fifty men on horseback came storming in the valley. They wore the steely gray cloaks of Byron's house. They rode straight for the retreating army.

"Merlin," Malcolm said from where he sat leaning up against a large oak tree, clutching his arm, "My brothers are here. Tell them to go after the lighted horseman."

"How?" Arthur said.

"Who?" Merlin said at the same time.

"Dyfed," Malcolm glanced at Arthur as he said it. "He has the most magic of all of us. He's riding the piebald horse. He should be able to hear you. He must have heard me."

Merlin stared off into the distance for a minute. He looked totally blank to Arthur. Arthur had seen that face many times; he dubbed it "idiot Merlin" look.

Before Arthur's eyes, the horsemen under Lord Byron's colors broke into two groups, then four, then eight. The groups went after all of the lit men coming toward them. It was bloody work and several of Byron's men fell in the onslaught, but it got done. Within minutes every one of the people that Merlin had indicated as sorcerers were dead or had fled.

Merlin slumped forward when the last man dropped. Arthur caught him before he fell to the ground. He maneuvered Merlin over to the tree where Leon was dressing Malcom's injured arm. He lowered Merlin down to a seated position so that he could rest against the tree. Merlin leaned against it, panting and sweating like he had run several miles. Leon gave the Prince a nod and began attending to Merlin as well as Malcolm.

Arthur rose and turned back to the scene at hand. What was left over from the chaotic battle shocked Arthur so badly he gripped his saddle for support. His horse nickered affectionately, turning his huge head toward him.

The army that remained stripped off their weapons of war. They looked more like a group of abused peasants than knights. Many of them were so old that their beards grew in white tuffs. Others were boys, as young as twelve or thirteen, certainly not old enough to fight in any army. None of them had the ruddy hair or skin of a Saxon. They were all from Albion.

The mounted men, both Arthur's own, and Byron's regrouped at the bottom of the hill, in two separate but identical groups of two lines. A third group formed ranks behind the first two, they looked like Caerleon's army. As Arthur watched, soldiers from the rabble left over from the battle filtered over and lined up with the rest. They formed ranks and waited, staring up the hill.

Two came forward first. They wore Byron's colors and were nearly identical, in mail and helms with blue plumes. The one of the right was slightly taller. They reached the top, slid off their horses, knelt to Arthur.

The taller of the two said, "Prince Arthur, I am William Byron, we are at your service."

"Against your father it would seem," Arthur commented.

William removed his helm. He also looked a bit like Merlin, long face, deep blue eyes. "We came to save our brother and cousin, sire. My father, had he known, would have commended us. We also have returned your knight to you."

The shorter of the two, waved an arm and Gwaine road up the hill with his usual swagger. He had replaced his red cape of a knight of Camelot with the cape of a knight of Caerleon. He arrived at the top of the hill with a smug smile and what looked like a circlet on his head.

Arthur frowned at the change. "Apparently, he is no longer my knight."

"Don't let the clothes fool you," Gwaine said. "I am your knight."

"Then why?" Arthur said gesturing to the wardrobe.

William Byron said instead, "My liege, as Gwaine recovered at our estate, it became clear from his talk that he was someone the King of Caerleon had been looking for. Our spies and informants had spoken of Gwaine for years, without knowing who he was."

"Who is he?"

"The king's son."

"Bastard son," Gwaine corrected.

"You can't be serious," Arthur said, nearly moaning. So now both his servant and one of his more rowdy knights, both commoners, were really nobility.

"That's what I said," Gwaine said with an easy smile. "But some of Caerleon's people fled into Byron's lands. The old king had no sons off of his wife, so he had them with ever other women he could find."

Arthur felt the start of a massive headache forming behind his eyes. "Apple doesn't fall far from the tree."

"The king married my mother to one of his officers," Gwaine said. "The man that I thought was my father died when I was a young child. My mother went to the king for help, and he turned her away. My mother moved us into Camelot."

William Byron picked up the story, "The king realized his mistake a few years later, when he went out to pick up his bastards to make his own personal ring of knight sons. He found, to his cost, that he had accidently sent Gwaine and his mother packing to Camelot. His mother having since died, there was no way to track him down. Caerleon made it known to the world that he would pay for news of his missing son."

"So you found Caerleon?"

"He's dead, actually," Gwaine said brightly. "As is his wife and all of his children, misbegotten and true both. The Saxons took care of them all."

Merlin's cousin picked up again, "The nobles left in Caerleon's keep knew about the missing son, realized that Gwaine looked a lot like the king, saw the ring that the king had given him at his birth, the one that Gwaine wears on his necklace, and swore fealty to him on the spot."

"Which makes you a king?" Arthur asked, the headache now pounding on his forehead.

"Well," Gwaine said, slowly. "I was knighted by you before I had any idea of my princely birthright."

"Which means," Merlin's cousin continued, "Sir Gwaine owes his oath and fealty to you."

"Which means," Gwaine continued, "that they're yours."

"Whoa. Hold it." Arthur said. "What are you saying?"

"Let's face it Arthur, I'd be a bloody awful king. And it would interfere with my time in the tavern."

"You're making me king of Caerleon's kingdom?"

"No," William said with a smile, "you are king to Caerleon's kingdom. You hold Gwaine, Gwaine holds them, therefore you hold them all."

Byron's other son said with a half chuckle, "It's probably for the best sire."

Arthur found himself half agreeing and totally stunned. King Arthur of Caerleon? That did not sound right, at all.

"Nice victory," Gwaine said nodding. "How did you know what to do?"

"Merlin," Arthur said shrugging.

"So he finally told about his magic?" Gwaine asked.

"You knew?"

"I suspected," Gwaine said with an easy smile. "But I kept my thoughts to myself."

"That's a first," Arthur commented drily.

"Speaking of firsts… I made king first," Gwaine said with an evil smile. "Princess."


End file.
